It was a nice evening for slippers. Steve opened the closet door, shuffled through the pile of shoes and finally found the old leather pair that he’s had since Lord knows when. It was the first time this season that it truly felt like fall and the wind ripped through the trees threatening to pull off every last leaf before it was done. Inside, a pot of chili simmered  gently on the stove as it’s typical to have a nice big pot of chili the first cold day of the year. Still a bit too early yet for a fire, but chili sounded really good tonight and Steve was glad Connie obliged him and threw together a big batch. He could smell it throughout the whole house and he certainly felt like the flavors had married enough for it to be delicious.

The grandkids were due to be in town tomorrow morning, and there was an excitement in the air as the last time he saw them was before Kyle and Jenny moved to Lincoln. The phone calls were nice and all, but nothing beats giving those kids a nice big hug from grandpa. It may be too chilly to take them to Centennial Park tomorrow, but he was sure they would find plenty of things to do to fill the time. Plus, there was sure to be plenty of chili leftover, so at least they had dinner covered. Connie was clever like that, and the grandkid’s sure did love her chili. Not wanting to wait another second, Steve urged Connie to give the chili one final taste test, and whenshe gave him that approving nod he hastily got his favorite ceramic chili bowls from the cabinet.

Belong

"Her world collapsed early Sunday morning."

Every once in a while, out of nowhere, Sara would hear these words from an obscure 90's song echoing in her mind.  Belong.  Such a bleak lyric lead her to hope, to dream, and she felt alive and free as she breathed in the crisp spring air. 

The air was singing and the magnolia trees were in full bloom.  Deep pink and white flowers burst forth in the warming sunshine.  Yearning for and basking in the energy from the sun, Sara felt the overwhelming urge to climb the magnolia tree that sprawled to life in front of her as she walked through Heritage Hills Park.  Before she knew it she was entrenched within those branches and the soft petals delicately caressed her cheeks as she climbed. 

There was no late frost for the first time since Sara could remember.  Too often the pedals of the flowering trees were singed by this unwelcome visitor leaving them with gnarled brown edges that withered away in decay.  Not this year, and Sara did not miss the opportunity to embrace the beauty of the season which often can be so easily overlooked.  She let her world collapse into now as she lived for this very moment in time.  She did not look ahead, she did not look behind.  She let every breath be a song.  This breath, this song, belong.

Time in the Shadows

Soon enough a wave of emotion came over him and he felt silly.  He hastily closed the laptop and shuffled back into the living room and collapsed into his recliner.  Time had a way of making him feel insignificant and he allowed fear and doubt to maintain a stronghold on his mind.  He didn't really know who he was anymore; he knew that his best days were behind him, yet he remained hopeful for the future.

Just then there was a knock on his door and he found a sweet young lady on the other side reminding him that it was time to eat.  Her appearance reminded him of his daughter or maybe even his wife, though he couldn't remember the last time he saw either one of them.  There was a distance in her eyes and he suddenly realized she was not who he thought she was.  Maybe she was his sister, did he have a sister?  It didn't matter, he was feeling frustrated but he figured he could just sort it all out later. 

He went back to grab his laptop thinking maybe he could work on his new story at the dinner table, but it was no longer there.  Perplexed, he fell back in his chair and suddenly felt the sensation of being pushed.  Before he knew it he was in the school cafeteria.  Lunch was being served and he found himself sitting with a bunch of guys from his high school swim team.  Chicken and noodles were on the menu today.  His favorite.  The story could wait.  He had a lot of catching up to do.

Brushing off the Dust

"Testing.  Testing.  One, two.  Is this thing on?"
He chuckled to himself as he thought about dusting off the old keyboard.

Would anyone listen?  Would anyone care?

There was an all to easy to ignore void in his life that he had tried to fill with other things.  Important things, no doubt, but there was always a little something missing.  A bit of his freedom, his whimsy, seemed to have been wadded up and thrown into the back of a broom closet, collecting dust and never seeing the light of day.  He had urges to write, little twinges here and there, all too easily snuffed out by the duties of being a husband, a father, and all the general doldrums of adulthood. 

He couldn't help but wonder why now, why couldn't he shake the urge this time, and why was he sitting in front of a white screen with a digital piece of paper glaring at him as his fingers rested gently on the keys?  This could be just another desperate stab at reliving part of his youth, in which he tended to lose motivation as the duties of life became too hard to ignore.  Then again, it could be something more.

Not sure ... Is anybody out there?

Hey all,  I was thankful to guest post on here several years ago. I have started writing again. In fact I have challenged myself to a 100 word a day challenge for 2020.  I am going to post some of my story starters and chapters here.  If you have feedback I would love to hear it.  If not, that will be fine too.  Hope your literary minds are racing and your next story is growing in your heart and mind.

Snow has a way of muffling the sound of the world until everything fades into background static.  The noise of traffic and people give way to the soft crunch of footsteps. From the moment the first flake falls until the world is covered, the transition quickens the expectation of those who seek tranquility in a deafening world.  A snow-covered landscape is the playground of all. The introvert finds solace in the quiet and calm. The child discovers new worlds racing down the avalanche ready cliff face or defending their fort from the coming marauders. The athlete sees a new challenge or a day of rest.  The one thing snow doesn’t do is provide anonymity. As each flake is disturbed, by heat or by pressure, evidence is left. A person can get lost in the sea of white, but rarely do they leave no trace. The footsteps faded with each passing minute and they knew they were running out of time.

Callie had been missing for just over 25 minutes when her teacher noticed she hadn’t come back from the bathroom.  No one knew she was missing, only that 7th graders tend to wander. Callie, and her friends affectionately known as the Airheads, were more prone to wander than others. At that mark Mr. Sullivan, the Social Studies teacher, called down to the office to see if Callie had turned up at the nurses office.  He explained to the tired secretary, who had been dealing with calls from parents asking if school was ending early due to the heavily falling snow, how long she had been gone and her hastily expressed need to go to the bathroom to deal with “girl problems.” It was the school equivalent of a get out of jail free card.  Teachers didn’t mess with that explanation. The secretary said she would check with the nurse and call him back.  

When she called five minutes later, the secretary sounded concerned.  Three other teachers had phoned the office with similar stories. Girls had walked up and asked to go to the restroom.  All had now been missing for over thirty minutes. The principals were out searching the building and she would get back to him as soon as she knew more.

Mr. Gerig, the first year assistant principal, was the first to notice the door.  It was at the end of a rarely used hallway that ran between the kitchen and the boiler room.  He probably wouldn’t have even glanced in its direction, as students rarely even came to this part of the building, but a tendril of cold air caressed his arm as he passed.  The door was propped slightly open and a small mound of snow was building on the waxed tile floor. As he walked down the corridor, he expected to find the janitor or a cook standing outside taking an ill-advised smoke break just outside the door.  What he found instead were 4 distinct sets of footprints headed towards the woods that ringed the back of the property where the school met the national park. The footsteps were slowly fading as more snow fell and wind pushed across the open space.  There was no sign of anyone outside the door and no shelter for over 20 miles in the direction the footsteps led. Mr. Gerig grabbed his walkie talkie to call Ms. Lamb the principal when he noticed the bright red dots alongside the rightmost set of footprints.  A note of fear entered his voice as he said, “Ms. Lamb, I need you to come to door 21 as quickly as you can. I am afraid it may already be too late.” He was still staring into the woods when Ms. Lamb arrived.

Photo Finish

The title of my friend's magazine is Photo Finish.  It is a magazine catering to amateur photographers pursuing their passion in photography and developing film.

The featured article "The Fall and Rise of Film" features a round table discussion among top professional film advocates Ryan Pfluger, David Benjamin Sherry, and Ellen Rogers; as well as celebrity analog film aficionados Jeff Bridges, Elijah Wood, and Michael Stipe. 

In this issue, Photo Finish with also begin a campaign for readers to submit letters and photographs to the magazine sharing their passion for analog photography to be published in future issues. 

The star-powered article and reader campaign will surely revitalize this floundering magazine.  Not only that, this issue hopes to rejuvenate interest in shooting pictures with film and rediscovering the magic of film photography; inspiring readers to fall in love with it all over again, and lay the groundwork for the next generation of film enthusiasts.

“There’s a spirituality that’s connected to it. I go out to take the pictures and at the end of the day I’m by myself, alone with my thoughts, in the dark room. It becomes very meditative.”

-- David Benjamin Sherry 

Magazine Maverick

October 2017 Writing Assignment: Magazine Maverick

You've owed a good, old friend a favor for over 15 years, and now they've come to you with the ultimate request. Save their magazine from going out of business.

You're a well-known humanitarian and you have met nearly every mover-and-shaker, in nearly every industry all over the world.

You have one chance to make it happen for your friend.
The magazine's fate is hinged on how creative you are to guarantee the success of its next issue.

What will you do to create the most timeless, and alluring issue, that saves the magazine, and your friendship?

Your assignment is to choose:
1. The title, and industry of your friend's magazine.
2. The cover of the magazine: who or what will be featured on the cover? Upload a JPEG image from the internet to give us an idea of the cover image idea.
3. The featured article or interview. What special celebrity/influencer/artist were you able to interview for this issue? What article topic will you be featuring that you sure will sell copies, and save the magazine from doom?
4. If you'd like to spend the extra time, write, and post your "article" or "interview" from the magazine!

Decomposition

Decomposing tides, withered worn joints of the sea,
willing me,
showing balance where life can grow.
as always, natural things flow
the paths of least resistance,
they decompose.
they release,
they die.
they let go.

Rivers and rivulets, breaking free,
expectations not.

it's the end of the world.
in every step of growth.
it's the end of the world, as we know it,
and as it will never be known.

Telling All

We are told we are here to raise vibration to experience grace in the chaos of time to relieve our spirits of grief and pain. and to relinquish our burdens to higher powers, ourselves included. we are given tools for empowerment shown ways, and guided by mentors and gurus samādhi practices, and breathwork prayer, and agonizing stretches. we are pulled from both ends by society, and then every other side as well. stretched beyond natural capacity. oddly gripping tight the comforts of habit, the creaturely ways of our thought patterns that have developed who we are over our lifetime. no longer questioning ourselves, and our interpretation of our daily ritual. facing days, as if to climb a mountain that leaves no footprint. surrendering to our ignorance, as our Will has plummeted, as if weighted and tied to stones in the river... we so Willfully, unknowningly so, give up our power. just to feel less feeling. to receive less change, less flow, less Spirit force pulsing through our minds. to deny the body, is to deny the Self, ever flowing, capturing pictures of itself for review... for validation. Breath, voicing ourselves outward and then inward, salvation hurries and scurries near us and then dearly holds us. we survive, and then we thrive. our choice. one breath.

I miss writing and thought I would share - The Clock

Tim slowly descended past his breaking point.  The cuckoo clock, so old his grandmother did not remember a time without it,  ticked off each passing second, with every click reverberating like a gunshot.  He stared at the ceiling, knowing that eventually they would have to return.  He had heard nothing from the hall outside of his door in over a day.  The lights had come on automatically at 6AM like they did each day, but had flickered throughout the morning.  He knew, or at least he had convinced himself, that soon they would go off and he would end the day in total darkness. 

Tim rose from his cot and began pacing the short side of the room.  It was only 12 steps and he knew them well.  Tim had only been allowed to bring one book and one remembrance item with him.  He had been told anything more was outside the allowances for each person on board.  The clock he thought would remind him of family only served as a trigger for happier memories.  Tim brought the longest book he could find, "The Count of Monte Cristo," It had seemed like a great idea at the time.  He now realized just how much he hated the story.  In fourteen months, he had not gotten past the 30th page.  Each time he tried, his hands began to shake and he could not keep reading.  

The lights flickered for the last time late in the evening.  No food had not arrived in over 30 hours.  As the hunger and darkness began to gnaw on his stocmach, he grudgingly began to acknowledge the cold.  It had started soon after the lights flickered out the last time.  The heaters were no longer running.  Power must be out all over the ship.  Tim imagined everyone frantically working on a solution.

From the hall a sound somewhat between a sob and a chuckle escapes into the darkness.  The realization has dawned on Tim that he has just been granted an amazing gift.  His life sentence, handed down on earth to be served in the mines of Saturn, was significantly shortened.  Soon the sob faded away as the welcoming, cold darkness allowed only the ticking of the clock to mark the cell's rebirth as a tomb.