What Stories

My second cup of coffee. The space heater is already turned on, but I don’t remember doing it. And once again those last twenty minutes having slipped by accounted for – not as in black outs, or anything concerning –  just a matter of inattention.

Birds sleep half-a-brain at a time. I am awake this way – half of my brain occupied and ruminating. I am a bird-cow. Functioning with half-a-brain.

I had a difficult time falling asleep last night. I was trying to make sense of a difficult day. Trying to fill in the gaps to create a storyline I can deal with. I wake to find myself still occupied with loose facts.

Already I am wanting a third cup of coffee, and the timer has chimed to mark half my writing time elapsed.

Calm is a moving target.

Like the idea of a dove.

Ideas don’t come with the grit and the smells that cling to real things as they move through the world.

Maybe one thing I never learned well enough was how a novelist leaves out just the right details.

Familiarity breeds contempt.

I graded essays yesterday and remarked over and over how they lacked transitions. Transitions are where we create. Where we sew facts into a perspective – into a story. Even in an academic essay. Even in our lives.

It is all in the choosing.

Some days it’s overwhelming: all the details.


2 Replies to “What Stories”

  1. Ruminating bird cows lie down in the shade from time to time. They don’t mind with half a mind.


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