Tag: choices

The Long Road

I just wrote a sentence in the novel-in-progress. Reflecting on its significance, I looked at the distant horizon of the novel’s conclusion and saw how this sentence impacted the outcome, tens of thousands of words away.

This reminds me of so many plans made. The long game needs to be played. I didn’t take up some vocations because of their long roads, like astrophysics and architecture. Oh, to study all those years, and learn all that math. Ugh. I lacked the patience, and the outcome seemed so tortuously distant and uncertain. Besides which, I probably wasn’t sufficiently smart or disciplined to pursue those courses. Thus comfortably rationalized out of trying those things, I set my sights on easier, and more comfortable targets.

Now I’m writing, what, the tenth novel? More? I’ve published four. More await editing and polishing. They need covers. More concepts queue to become novels. More stories stack up to be told.

I began writing because I thought I could do it. I’ve worked on it and continued working on it even as I sometimes slump over blank pages and screens, even as I read novels and admire others’ talents and skills, and wish I could attain half of their skill. I continue believing that I have so many shortages of skills, but I continuing writing and trying. I saw the long road demanded of writing a novel, but it didn’t matter. The other possible vocations interested and appealed to me, but writing is an addiction with the intangible draw of a true love.

Just some thoughts to conclude another day of writing like crazy.

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The Beer Tree

I was with a friend at a concert last night. He drank a Bud Light while I enjoyed a 10 Barrel Apocalypse. He always drinks Bud Light.

Cool for him. My beer buds don’t align well with Bud Light. I find it too thin, and lacking in depth and flavor for me to claim as a regular, or even to have in my rotation.

I contrast this with my Wednesday night experience. One of the BoBs regularly brews his own, and brought a couple bottles for us to sample. He called it an Imperial IPA. From his description, it sounded like a double IPA. However you reference it, this beer was fantastically smooth and flavorful. He’d bottled it in May, so it was just under two full months old. I’d expected high I.B.U.s and hoppiness, but neither were present. With an A.b.V. of eleven point two, it had a kick.

What impressed me that night was first, his explanation of the ingredients, and how he brewed it. Next, another friend’s insightful questions about where the hops were sourced and other factors surprised me. In retrospect, it seemed like he’s contemplating brewing his own.

As I do when drinking beer – or wine – I became contemplative. I ended up contemplating beer over my coffee this morning. My coffee choice is much narrower than my beer choices, but it’s evolved to that point. For my morning coffee, I like a French or Italian roast, without milk, cream, or sugar. For my writing session, I prefer a four shot mocha.

For beer, I have a choice tree. I prefer dark beers, so they dominate my beer tree, but my beer choice depends upon the food, event, and offerings. At the top of my list are Imperial Stouts. They usually deliver a significant kick, so they’re not often chosen. Dropping down the list, I’ll look for stouts and porters, followed by ales and I.P.A.s, Pilsners and lagers. Besides enjoying dark beers, when sampling one of the others beer variations, I’ve discovered I like citrus overtones, especially grapefruits. I don’t usually like fruity beers, but this year, I enjoyed several delightful beers with watermelon. I’m not surprised, as I enjoy buying and drinking watermelon juice.

And yes, I like my beer cold. I’ve tried it warm, several times (you know, to get a data set), and I prefer cold beer with a moderately small head. As an aside, I’m not fond of coffee in beer, unless it’s in an ice cream float. A coffee flavored stout with vanilla ice cream on a hot day is a damn fine dessert.

The thing with all of this, as with so many things, is that our individual choices are unique, and our reasons for reaching them are often more complex than the thought we give to them. While I give my beers a lot of thought and like to taste from a large swath of samples, because you never know what might impress you, my buddy preferred his Bud Light because of its light flavor, low alcohol content, and the lack of need to think about which beer he’ll drink, and whether he’ll enjoy it.

Which is why I’ve made the coffee choices I’ve made.

 

 

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Options

I dreamed of a swarthy man with drooping dark eyes.

Coal black hair was parted down the middle and cinched into a pony-tail. A trim black beard underlined his lean face. He was well dressed in a clean, modern style, with collared, starched Oxford shirt open at the neck and a simple, unbuttoned vest. He also wore a Bluetooth and was using it to converse with his staff.

He and I met in a cool, softly lit room. Without further prelude, I found him asking me what I wanted. Without being aware that I’d told him, he told his staff what I wanted, and I corrected him. As this was going on, he held out a pale green dinner plate. The plate was plain. On it was a small white piece of paper folded in half.

“What’s this?” I asked.

“Your choices,” he replied, then spoke to his people via the Bluetooth.

I picked up the paper and unfolded it. It was blank. I asked, “Is this a joke?”

“No. Words would limit you. Everything is your option.”

A short, white woman wearing a bright red dress entered. She glanced at me and then focused on the black-haired man. “She seeks help, too,” he said.

He began speaking to her. Turning away, I saw several white pub tables set up around the room. Gold coins and red rose petals were strewn and mounded on the tables.

“Help yourself,” the man said.

A white canvas bag was in my hand. I slide some gold and petals into the bag. He urged me to take more. I declined, adding, “I want to leave some for others.” Yet, I saw that whatever I had taken was already being replenished. Like mounds were appearing on other tables. People were entering and filling their backs.

The black-haired man shook his head. “There’s enough for others. There are no limits. It’s infinite.”

Taking my bag, I drifted out of the room and told myself, “I need to remember this.”

Someone unseen replied, “You will.”

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