Monday, November 25, 2013

Page One


Photo Credit: Filipe Varela

It starts with a sound. 

The gun fires, the breath is taken, the worlds rip at the seams while doors slam in suburban houses. The baby cries. Thunder rattles the window panes. A scream. Bubble gum pops. Somebody snores, bare feet hit the pavement, the switch flicks, the stars sing, and the woman weeps for her children. Violins. Applause deafens its listeners. Bacon frying matches sandpaper smoothing wood. Hell breaks loose.

Silence.

Then a whisper.

Call them what you will. Yarns, legends, tales, novels, garbage. They’re still the fabric of my world. For as long as I can remember I’ve loved stories—getting to breathe in another reality for an hour, or a day, or a week as the characters and the plot permeate every fiber of my being. And then the credits roll up the screen. The cover is turned shut. The grave is filled and the sun set. Yet it never ends there. 

That’s what I’ve always found, anyway. Stories. You live them, you love them, you hate them, it’s complicated. But that’s the point! The story is not just the story. The story is the reader’s passion for the story. It’s the sweat and blood and tears that end up ingrained on the heart that make it worth remembering. And then it’s what the reader does with those lessons that make it important. 

So I’m here to write. 

That’s mostly it. I need the writing practice, and it couldn’t hurt to develop a discipline to write something every two weeks. I’m immersed in stories, and I like to write them, so it makes sense that I study them. More than that the reader always has a responsibility to the story. If the readers don’t take care of the stories then no one ever will. This is my opportunity.

For the foreseeable future, that’s the game plan. Write about stories, wherever I find them. I’ve got a bookshelf, a movie shelf, a public library, and some local Redboxes to sort through; the stock is not in danger of falling. Off the top of my head I can think of some of my favorite stories starring Captain America, Robin Hood, Otto Malpense, Jesus Christ, and Bob Parr. (Yeah, there’s a hero trend.) If I stopped and contemplated the matter I know I could delve into my records and find some more.

Regardless.

Here it is. The sanctuary and the battlefield. Life and death. Ink and paper. Sounds really exciting when it's just me typing up an opinion every other week.

It starts with a sound. 

Remember that.

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