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.

A to Z reflections....

Another A to Z challenge comes to an end--- another collection of posts and poetry have been written, another deep breath of relief is released. For my fellow bloggers that survived as well, it's another 'challenge-completed' notch carved into the writing desk. I've come to enjoy my yearly foray into the world of all things alphabetical. This was my third year, though it was only the second year I had a workable theme (which made the challenge substantially easier than the first year I attempted this challenge.) And, though my first year was difficult because my focus was so scattered, I found this year was more difficult because I lost the enthusiasm that came with the first year excitement----excitement which helped me plug along until the end of the challenge. Year 3 was a success in the sense that I completed the challenge, though, this was the year that almost wasn't---- Somewhere about a third of the way through the challenge, I seriously considered...

Bitter Honey

Weaving dreams of beguiling gold, a future's price for happiness. What secrets do you, determined, hold? asks the summer wind's soft caress. A guarded name, a hidden hope. Spinning wheels clutching time, grasping straw that falls away, What dreams may come, we soon may find, won't recall at end of day. A cherished life, a memory lost.

A million lives, beneath a single sky.....

Though our feet leave different prints,our tongues sound different words, there's a mirrored rhythm in the beating of our hearts. Though born in different worlds, our eyes sharpened 'neath different moons, there's an unspoken truth in the warmth of our touch. We may walk in different strides and dream different dreams, we may speak in different voices, maybe swim in different streams. It's plain to see, when dark night falls, as all the stars shine through, that underneath it all, there's no difference 'tween me and you.

From the Inkwell, From the Vein.....

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