100 Words – Masks

The death mask hangs in a basement corridor next to the mask of the man who ordered his death. The young man stands and stares at the contrast. The face of knowledge and the face of power. He sees what he came to see, but didn't find what he was looking for. There are no answers in the past, only lessons. Everything is open to interpretation. The winners write history. The rebels, their graffiti. The politicians decide what is truth and the peasants labor to make it real. Two masks hang on a wall. A young man stares, understanding nothing.

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Writing – Hate Writers

I'm a writer. I used to hate other writers. I hated them for their talent and success and general snottiness. I hated them for not being a pile of twisted mental. Why was it so easy for them and so hard for me? Obviously this attitude was delusional. I knew that, but still couldn't shake it. I think that's one reason all my favorite writers were dead people. Hard to feel competitive with a corpse. I wish I could say that I had a great epiphany and now I love all in the literary world. Not true. It took years of apathy and erosion of will. I learned over the years to get over myself. The final straw in this attitude was the stripping away of a long-held prejudice, the daily prompt. I always considered people who needed prompts as hacks. You need to write from within. Then I started reading some of what these people were writing. Turns out Twitter is good for something after all. It also turns out that I really liked a lot of what I was reading. So I jumped on the bandwagon. I'm having fun, but more importantly, I'm meeting writers that I like. Yes, it's only Twitter following right now, but it has opened me up to actually being, "sociable."

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100 Words – Prompt

Leroy was addicted to writing prompts. He followed 43 prompt websites and emails. For each prompt he wrote one sentence using the keyword or concept. Then he would spend the rest of the day trying to build a story out of those sentences. For Three hundred and seventy days he failed to develop anything but gibberish. Then one day it all came together. Like the proverbial room of infinite monkeys, the randomness paid off. The planets aligned as each sentence found it's place in the story of an old woman discovering the meaning of her life just before she died.

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Tom Week – Storage Time

Storage Time

Yes, sadly, it is once again storage time for the RV. We are weeks away from completing the new deal with the new buyer. In the morning I will dump the tanks, shut off the fridge and drive 2.7 miles to the new storage yard.

No family trip this year

With everything going on around here I'm not going to make it to the family get together. Sorry folks, too many hassles, not enough time.

Many Random Thoughts

I used to tell jokes about a heavy metal band called Titanium, but nobody ever laughed. If I'm the cheery one, society is in trouble. The myth of the rhyme. The glory of the song. The strings weep. The metronome bleeds. Do you ever fear that the paranoids are out to get you? If you recognize a bumper sticker as geeky, you're a geek. Alcohol does not cure the disease of writing, but it does relieve some of the symptoms. This place, where I am sitting right now, is where some very good writing will happen. Never end a sentence with Preparation H. Some jokes about Detroit are only funny in Detroit.

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100 Words – The Cleaner

All hail the cleaner, for he is good. I can't imagine the mess we'd be in without him. I've seen him toss around a carcass bigger than me like it weighed nothing. I told him once that I wanted to be the cleaner when I grow up. He laughed but didn't sound like he was kidding when he told me he'd kill me if I tried to take his job. He knows, and I know, that I'll never be the cleaner. I'm too small and too dirty. A cleaner's gotta clean. That's what my mother always said. She was right. Photo by JD Hancock

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100 Words – Broken Sun

Beware the broken sun. It lies cold in the sky. You will never touch it. Please do not try. Obey your father. He knows things you don't. Probably never will. Your uncles broke it. Your father warned them but they wouldn't listen. They were so small and the sun so big. What harm could they do? Huh, what harm? Now the sun is broken and you think you can fix it? Ask your uncles. Oh, you can't. They were destroyed. God punished them for their pride. Enjoy your life while you can. Wine, women and song. There is no tomorrow. Photo by slollo

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