Thursday! The E-Zine for September 20, 2023
V3, I43
I’m going a little bit shorter with the stories this week because, well, there are plans. Of course, there are always plans. Planning is what writers do instead of writing. Except this time, I think the plans in my head have an excellent chance of seeing the light of day. I don’t ask you to trust me on this, but I would like you to watch and to call me out if I don’t start doing more cool things, or at least things on a higher level of cool.
I will say a couple of the plans involve re-writing a couple stories I’d already put on my website. One of those stories very nearly showed up here this week, but I didn’t like it. I can do better. You should get better from me. That’s not to say the story wasn’t perfectly acceptable when I wrote it, but that was a couple of years ago and my skills have improved. The story is good, but it can — and will — be better.
The schedule’s the thing. The plans I have are attainable so long as I make the time to attain them. That’s the trick — giving space in the timeline of my life to creating things I want very much to create. Well, that and setting aside the fear that you’ll simply yawn at what I create. But that’s another matter altogether.
Another utterly terrifying matter.
If you’re a paid subscriber, keep your eyes peeled for something with sound to show up fairly soon. I’d like to do something special every couple weeks right now and perhaps more frequently should God do some big things in my life. For that we pray, right? Right.
Read on, my friends!
Poems
Stories
Key to a Buffalo Skate Party
There was a song, popular on the radio Many years before I was born “You can’t rollerskate in a buffalo herd ” It began, and went on for a bit. The local oldies station played it A lot more often than you'd expect Sandwiched awkwardly between Cream and The Shirelles. The line didn’t seem right to me, A clever bit of quitter, loser talk. Of course you could rollerskate Among the quiet, grazing bison. You’d have to move quite carefully. Don’t blunder in, buffeting the buffalo And you’d have to dress the part Brown and furry, with proper horns. The most important part, though, the vital key Would be the extra pairs of rollerskates You’d bring with you. Just in case Some of the buffalo wanted to skate with you.
Saddest Man in My Town
The saddest man in my town Slid my iced coffee across the counter, Accepted by fiver, gave me back change. Smells like Heaven here, I said. Apple. Coffee. Chocolate. Cinnamon. Smells like dreams and happiness. I guess, man, he said from behind his mask And his boredom and his sadness. I been here so long I don’t smell it anymore.
My dream is to support my family with my art. Can such a thing be done? Yes! But I need your help. How? I’m glad you asked!
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Allie’s Fairy Tale
"What you got there, Allie?" Dob asked the girl who skipped past him, waving a bright sparkler.
"A fire fairy," she called back and stopped. The sparkler crackled loudly and dropped bright white bits of fire on the ground around them both.
"What rare magic! You must be the fairy queen", he said and she nodded. He stepped on a few fast fading embers that landed near his feet. "You better get home. Night's coming."
"I'm going to the docks! My fairy wants to see the hay barches! She pointed toward town and sparks arced toward the edge of his field. He quickly tamped them out.
"Be careful", he warned. "It's mighty dry out here! And don't you worry about those barges. They'll be there in the morning!"
"Maybe not, Mr. Dob!" Allie giggled and waved the sparkler. It seemed for a moment to burn more brightly and he could have sworn it briefly flickered from bright white to angry red. He blinked and it looked normal again, fading from view as Allie ran toward down.
He stood, thinking about the last thing she had said. What an odd thing for her to say. Then, another thought. Where did she get a sparkler, way out here?
Allie ran down the hill from Dob's farm toward the docks of Seven Landings and the barges loaded with dry hay. The fairy on the end of her stick whispered hungrily, "Burn it all, my Queen!"
Her laugh in reply was wicked and old.
Dragonspotting
Dragons are real.
Dragons are not fairy tales. No. Fairies have other tales, and we will speak of those later, when you're ready to think around corners and into the places between places.
Dragons have always been here, for as long as we humans have told stories.
Dragons are still here.
You don't believe me. That smirk tells me a lot. Same for the way you hunched your shoulders.
You think I'm lying to you. Putting you on. I'm not. In fact, stop here. Right now. Stop walking.
Look up.
Do you see that gargoyle on the northeast corner? The one clutching the ledge like a perch? Don't point! You don't want it to notice that you notice, do you? Just...there. That one, with the bird’s nest. What is it?
A statue? That is how it appears, of course. But look. See the pigeon next to it? Watch that instead. Don't take your eyes from it.
Watch.
Wait.
Waiii--THERE! Did you see? No?
No?!
Ah. Maybe it was too quick for you. Dragons are incredibly fast. Takes practice…training.
Let me ask you this, though. Where is the pigeon? Flown away? Well, sure. Could have. But that doesn't quite explain those feathers floating from the ledge, does it? How about the feather in the statue's mouth Or the scattered bird’s nest? What do they tell you? Accident? Gust of wind?
Hmph.
Dragons are real, kid. You’ll learn. You have to, if you’re going to hunt them.
Now. Let’s get lunch.
(Photo Credit: Aleviva-Medien on Pixabay)
YES!!! Also... plans??? 👀👀👀