I intellectually understand my work-work life hit with the metaphorical pause button.
I attempt to scratch out every opportunity.
But it’s emotionally scary and I suspect physically a genetic scar. (Look up epigenetics and the potato famine)
Since I’m spending A LOT of time alone here in downtown St Petersburg, I’ve been scratching my writin’ and creatin’ itch. I wrote those two words from my Central Kentucky mother tongue.
I’ve discovered I can watch endless YouTube pod casts about interesting things. I’ve been learning from interesting people and not watching the news.
My body and mind are my spaceship, so it matters what fuel I allow inside it.
For example, I’ve started another novel – working title: Caste Into Darkness.
It’s a follow up to a novel I wrote over a decade ago, (excuse the terrible grammar) Fishing for Light.
I wrote it as a satire because the underlying theme are serious. As in, if you really went searching for a high-power, where would you find it? And if you wanted to take over the world without firing a shot – how would you do it?
Two days ago I wrote the below opening – I know the ending because I wrote it already.
The sun’s dispersed yellow rays yielded the day below the horizon as darkness overcame all meaning as it mindlessly slithered across the Appalachian forest floor. Professor Quan understood his body was dying. It was his conscious choice. The late evening was chilly, the forest peaceful, quiet. High above him two turtle doves were snuggled together into a makeshift nest, made from circular thorn bush limbs, protected by thick sycamore tree limbs. They cooed down at him.
Now I have a side-hustle to occupy my mind, waiting for my main-hustle to reemerge from stasis.
I think if you keep your mind and body working on a project during the life journey; it makes the destination meaningful.
I wrote that last sentence for a specific reason.
Perhaps, like me, you have been monitoring the Johns Hopkins coronavirus statistical infection and death map?
I know what really hit me hard was looking at the photos from NYC digging a potter’s field on Hart Island.
I am not attempting to overstate the obvious, but those numbers and coffins are, or were, living, breathing human beings.
As I’ve aged, I have worked to seek a positive idea from a negative experience. The basic predicate being love is by far a more powerful human emotion than hate.
Therefore, I write and create just for the love of it.
I don’t enjoy expressing a political view. If I had my way, we’d treat each other with kindness and courtesy and follow the Hippocratic Oath.
IF you approach these things from a Biblical view:
“And be kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another…” Ephesians 4:32 – King James’s translation.