The Thursday! Newsletter: 1-49: Bring It In for a Bit!
Volume 1, Issue 49
I want to call a time out right now.
Can I do that? Can I call a time out, just for a few minutes so we can catch out breaths, get out feet back under us, and chat for just a few? It's not secret that the world right now -- and by that I don't mean the far-flung reaches of troubled and war-torn lands, but our own neighborhoods and grocery stores and schoolhouses -- is as rough and heavy as it's ever been in my lifetime. That's not to say times today are the worst they've ever been. Clearly they aren't. Clearly times have been worse. We're not actively shooting at each other (though there are more than a couple activists who very much want that to happen so they can claim vindication for their sick little mindsets).
Still, it's bad. Brittle. Heavy. On the edge of....something like panic but maybe something like the kind of anger you get when you push a quiet person just a smidge too far and they erupt in a fury of punches. It feels like everyone is out for only themselves, even in small ways like who gets in front of whom in traffic.
I know it's getting to you because I see it and I hear you. I read it in social media posts. I hear it in chats. Sometimes you even send me e-mails to let me know just how crazy things are for you and how much you wish things were otherwise so you could do the creative work your heart longs to do.
I see you. I hear you. And I'm calling you in so we can collect ourselves and catch our breaths.
The truth of the world is that it stinks. It's full of humans and, though we tell ourselves that we're good of heart and pure of purpose, we know we aren't. We adopt all sorts of customs and habits and manners to make ourselves seem decent. We who have connections to the Almighty talk to Him a lot about the way we go about our days and we ask for decency and patience.
And we fail. Often. Every day. Many times a day.
And yet here we are. We're assembled in spirit around a newsletter that, quite honestly, means nothing at all in a big world of billions of people and tens of billions of troubles. We're here anyway. And that's important because it means we're trying. We haven't given in to despair. We haven't gone over to the dark. We haven't decided to be one of the horrible people who treat others horribly. We fight against our own wicked natures to be better. IN doing so, we actually make our little parts of the world better. We spread some good and some polite and some happiness and some ease to others who, maybe, spread it to others in turn.
It's tiring work, always pushing back against the crapweasels and jackwagons. It feels sometimes like we are alone.
You aren't alone. You're here and I'm here. And, look around. See some other folks, too? I don't know exactly who they are, but I know they're there. Get your head up. Look out of the dark and the tired and see who is around you. Look at the hands offering help. Sure, they're imperfect hands and the help may not be exactly what you want or need, but the help is there. They're trying to. That is great all by itself. That puts paid to the lie that everything is bad, including you.
Sure, the world stinks but not all of it. Not everyone. Not all the time.
We are out here creating little flying sticks of beautiful dynamite (remember those?) and letting them fly. See one? Send one of your own flying alongside. Write a story, a poem, a silly limerick, a lovely haiku, a stunning epic poem. Paint a landscape or a portrait, draw a bumblebee or a raccoon or whatever, sing an aria or a ditty. Doesn't matter. Make something cool and send it. It'll help. You don't think it will, but it will.
The world sucks. We make it suck less with the things we create. We are beacons against despair. You won't feel like you are all the time, or even most of the time. I sure as heck don't. The last couple weeks have been rough on me and I've had a bunch of truly miserable days. Honestly, I'm still not right. But I'm here. And you're here. We are here and we are okay.
Okay?
I'm not going very long this week and I don't have any creative advice or anything like that. It's just not that kind of week. I'll get back to that next week. After that, though, I'm going to take a little break for two weeks. You'll still get Thursday!, but it'll be shorter, mostly full of links to things I've written and maybe a couple other fun and useful things I've run across. My brain needs a bit of a break and I also want to catalog what I've written here before so I don't repeat myself unnecessarily.
Cool? Cool.
You're okay. You are. If you aren't entirely convinced of it or if things feel entirely too dark and heavy for you, please find more help. There is no shame. There is, in fact, a whole lot of help and healing available. You can do it if you need it. You can. Heck, you've read this far, right?
Good talk. :)
(Whoops! Sorry this one was a little bit late getting out! I got tied up this morning and, you know how things go.)
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What I Wrote Last Week
"On a Close and Cloudy Morning in October", a poem about gloom felt and shared.
"What the Artist Sees (On Grant Wood's Landscapes)", a poem inspired by art, requested by a brilliant artist.
"The Beasts of Haddon's Field", a creepy little story with what I think is a rather unique monster.
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One Last Thing
This is where I ask you to help me out. I can't share Thursday! nearly as well as you can so if you know someone who might like what we have here, forward this along or show them the archives.
You can also buy or share my cool book, give it a solid review, or get an autographed copy (ask and I'll tell you how!).
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As always, you can always talk back to me by hitting the reply button! I can't promise I'll always answer back, because I'm quite forgetful, but I'll read everything you send.