The process of writing daily or several times each week on a blog can be as pressing as keeping a deadline for a newspaper or magazine. Of course, I am the editor in chief, all the editors actually and today I looked at images, needing to choose between them. They are similar enough to use both.
The first picture is of my city, a typical block of row houses in the city, and in each house there is a story waiting to be told …
a hundred more around the corner, in the grocery, and in every direction you can travel the globe, the stories are there.
Like plump, ripe fruit waiting to be plucked off the tree, waiting for you to take that first bite and taste its sweet flavors.
How does the germ of an idea plant itself in the soft soil of our brain and spout a fruit tree, a beautiful garden or a tangle of weeds? The garden is pruned and cared for with loving hands. The weeds we hack, pull out by the root and send to the trash.
When my work didn’t make it from the brain to the blank page, it remained, often untended and with no conscious effort on my part, continued to grow. I have a belief that our worst nightmares, fears and insecurities are the product of those lousy weeds needing to go to the trash.
My stories are often event-driven, an alter-ego, a character from an ongoing series, the memory of someone from my childhood or the man across the counter at a diner this morning.
There are wonders to be seen in this second picture. How would you describe them?
For me it is often as simple as one sentence.
However the idea gets stuck in your brain, it becomes that germ and most of us, at least at the beginning, never know what we’ll get, a bouquet or a tangled mess.
Were do you find the “word?”
Basta which means
Enough. I come to the
Photographs by: JenG