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A time to every purpose under heaven....

So, I've been pondering an idea for a "short" fiction competition in December. There won't be any word about the last contest I entered until October, so what better way to pass the time than by preparing another piece for the next contest.

I've never really limited my writing by classifying it to any specific genre, but I have found that most of what I write has a definite bent toward magical realism....more specifically, the darker side of magical realism. Is there such a thing as the macabre magical realism genre???

I don't normally consider myself overly preoccupied with death, but it does have a strong role in most of the themes of my writing. I've mostly attributed it to my upbringing. There aren't too many children that I know of that spent their formative years wandering the halls and rooms of a skilled-patient nursing home. But the lonely, pathetic halls of such a place is exactly where my brother and I spent many an after-school hour, waiting on one or the other parent to finish their nursing shift to take us home.

There are things he and I saw, smelled and felt that most will never experience until later in their adult life...and a very few, still, will never experience them at all. And everything buried in my childhood memories of that place lends itself readily to every scene that I craft.

It's the fragility of life...the fact that we are always vulnerable, whether we can admit it or not...that is held most dear in my sub-conscious. The knowledge that there is so little time in our existence on earth with so many things to experience and explore...this is what drives my creative endeavors. It is the frantic call to the world's people to immerse themselves in every facet of life within their reach, with the constant drive to touch those facets of life beyond their reach, that propels my craft forward.

We must BE, lest we run out of precious time and are no longer able to BE.


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