It begins with a short story, so I’m learning.
It started with a word, then a phrase. Those phrases and words became a sentence.
That sentence grew to become a paragraph that carried with it a glimmer of meaning, a seed of an unknown specimen. So, I held my breath and watered it. I watered it knowing it might not grow. It might be a dead seed, after all.
But, I kept watering it anyway like any foolish writer would do. Any creative type has to do.
Soon, that paragraph sprouted meaning, and that meaning multiplied and expanded to begin to take a form, a grander shape with potential. After some time of tapping the keys and refilling my glass, twice… in-between the first capital letter and the last period there grew a story with a life and a memory and a moment. Within that life, that moment, that memory, flowered a tragedy for one but a victory for another, even if that victory will prove to be momentary.
But, any victory whether large or small is worth the ride. Yes?
And, that my dear, is the precarious birth of just one story— one story that will someday grow up to become a book of its own.
May your small light ignite something grand, as it only can….
Autumn