Science fiction, fantasy, mystery and what-not
Someone asked him, “How are you doing?” “Good,” he answered with enthusiasm.
He didn’t know if his answer was true. He didn’t know how he felt. He thought how he ‘felt’ was a complicated question, and the truth about the answer slid along its own spectrum, shifting by the second, the minute, the day.
‘Good’ was probably a safe if reductive average.
The best thing he could do is write with the conviction that he was telling the best possible story in the best possible way. Thoughts such as is it too long, too complicated or convoluted or boring to others had to be shoved aside. He needed to write it like it was ordained to be wondrous.
Otherwise, he would just stop. And then, what would he do?
Yes, he had to write with that conviction.
Ella was bubbly, happy, upbeat, and friendly, as usual. She took his usual drink order and then he asked, “Are you always so energetic and upbeat?”
She thought for two full seconds and then nodded, smiling, eyes bright and big. “Yes, I am.”
“Do you get here and drink a gallon of coffee when you start your shift?”
Ella smiled. “Would you believe, I don’t drink any coffee or tea.”
“Sugar? Chocolate?”
“Nope. This is just how I am.”
He smiled in admiration. “Wow. I am so jealous.” He hoped she was always like that but who knew how her life would change?
He feels like he’s chasing time. Time is like a red laser dot, nominally a pointer, but often used to tease cats, and he’s the cat. He knows he can’t catch the time dot but he can’t stop his nature from trying.
Encountering a friend who just retired, he asked what the other was now doing with his time. “Well,” the new retiree replied, “I’m publishing my second collection of poetry.”
“Great, congratulations.”
“Thank you. I’ve worked on it for twenty plus years.”
“Who is the publisher?”
“I’m self-publishing. After being rejected one hundred twenty-seven times, I just want to get it out there.”
Michael Seidel, writer 