Man, it's cold outside, and I need to snowblow and I really don't want to. Waaaah! Today you get to read last night's casting about and frustration when I didn't immediately get an idea, and how fast that changed when I did. I'm working to focus on just writing, not thinking, so what you get is what you get. Case in point:
December 30--A random light. A random light. A random light? What does that mean? Random random Can light be random? Random light random light Random light. Jubal drove down County Road 72 late one midsummer night. The light of random houses sprinkled over the rolling hills and peering at him through thickets of young trees were the only sign that he wasn't the last person alive on the planet. He liked the narrow asphalt road with its sinuous curves and stomach-swooping little rises much better than the cold gray concrete of the state highway a mile or so to the north. Claire hated this old road. She said it was dangerous and too lonely, but that was what Jubal liked about it. He craved the solitude of the road with its friendly turns and the tangled brush just off the shoulder that provided cover for wild turkeys in the fall, whitetail deer all year round, and ring-neck pheasants in summer. He liked seeing the raccoons with their human-like hands perched waiting to cross after he passed and the heedless lumbering porcupines that took their old sweet time making him wait. It was an independent sort of road, maybe that was why he liked it so much.
There, it was gratifying to start out so frustrated and end up with a rather lyrical hymn to driving country roads. This pleases me immensely.
Stay safe if you're out tonight. Happy New Year!
--Barbara
No comments:
Post a Comment