A grump and 400 beautiful words
Sometimes people don't know where to stop. They can't see the lines in the sand; or perhaps they don't know what they mean. You can't cross a ghost fence, becomes you mustn't cross a ghost fence, and finally the magic fades away and the power is lost.
I walked away from an argument, because it was not one worth having. Spoke a few words of peace - not enough it seams - and made a few passes in the air; enough small magic to shape the day. Enough power, perhaps, to hold someone with any awe in their heart at bay.
It didn't work. The argument followed me. A snippy voice determined to have another dig; a playground person - more concerned with winners and losers than with right and wrong.
All I want to do is turn around and tell them to fuck off; string together a lovely compound of expletives with a rock hard insult at the core. I like the way sanctimonious sounds with something Anglo-Saxon on the end. They're wrong; but I can't tell them they are wrong without re-engaging; escalating; feeding the troll.
So I've walked away hard. Do you ever do that? Quietly leave locking the doors after you? This small post, seen by a few dozen people at most these days, is my tantrum; my flouncing door-slam disguised (barely) as prose.
* * *
So the challenge - which as nothing to do with the paragraphs above - is to try to turn out 400 beautiful words a day for five days. I am not sure what that means yet, or how the words will manifest; only that I am story-sick and if I can't start to get the tales out of my head and on to the page then the world will start to change.
I walked away from an argument, because it was not one worth having. Spoke a few words of peace - not enough it seams - and made a few passes in the air; enough small magic to shape the day. Enough power, perhaps, to hold someone with any awe in their heart at bay.
It didn't work. The argument followed me. A snippy voice determined to have another dig; a playground person - more concerned with winners and losers than with right and wrong.
All I want to do is turn around and tell them to fuck off; string together a lovely compound of expletives with a rock hard insult at the core. I like the way sanctimonious sounds with something Anglo-Saxon on the end. They're wrong; but I can't tell them they are wrong without re-engaging; escalating; feeding the troll.
So I've walked away hard. Do you ever do that? Quietly leave locking the doors after you? This small post, seen by a few dozen people at most these days, is my tantrum; my flouncing door-slam disguised (barely) as prose.
* * *
So the challenge - which as nothing to do with the paragraphs above - is to try to turn out 400 beautiful words a day for five days. I am not sure what that means yet, or how the words will manifest; only that I am story-sick and if I can't start to get the tales out of my head and on to the page then the world will start to change.