Life Imitating Art for WIPpet Wednesday
“I Breathe But I Can’t Catch My Breath.” ~ John Unger, owner of Schoep
Last Wednesday night Life did that thing we writers like to do to our characters: It strolled up and sucker punched me right between the eyes, and it hurt like hell. Still does. But then Life did that other thing it’s inordinately good at: It went on. Funny, that. The world may have seemed to stop turning for me. I may have felt as though my soul had been ripped from my body, stomped into the mud under a pair of spiked shoes, shredded into pieces and thrown to the four winds, but Life didn’t so much as look back.
I don’t automatically broadcast these things. Nothing wrong with that. Some people need it to heal. But I’m a very private person. So, when I could manage it, I told a handful of close friends. Then I quietly disappeared. Not physically. After all, Life has no time for that. Grief is a very personal thing for me. I don’t want to share it. I take it in, I hold it close, and I attempt to smother the living shit out of it. And I know that in the list of tragedies that can befall a person, mine would be considered inconsequential to some. A one on a scale to five. That’s okay. I only share now because my on-line absence had been noted by a few, and I felt an explanation of sorts was due.
I’m still here. I’m feeling less than whole. Life doesn’t give a flying fuck about that, though, and so I step back into the flow and let it carry me. So if I’ve been less interactive over the past week, and seem to be for a bit yet — well, that’s why.
And now that I’ve thoroughly destroyed the lighthearted gaiety of WIPpet Wednesday, and in honor of Greylands being available for sale , I’m going to give you a bit more of Fletch, a small glimpse into his past. Six sentences for November 6.
He slipped the journal into the pocket of his knapsack and checked the rest of his equipment — all souvenirs of a previous life when honor and duty had meant something. Back before everything had gone to shit.
Fletch had come damn close to going to shit right along with the rest of it, but Pete, that crazy son-of-a-bitch, had managed to talk him off the ledge and give him something to believe in. Then the bastard went and got himself shot before they could prove a damn thing, and Fletch had to disappear in a hurry.
No better place to get lost than the Shadows. Nothing but lost souls down there.
Next week I intend to have something entirely new because I . . . um . . . *sigh* I started a new project. Remember? Nutball, here. Yeah. In my defense, it’s not entirely new. It’s one of those “notebook” pieces. Something that insisted I write it and then had nowhere to go. Well, I have someplace for it to go now but only if it falls into place by the middle of December. Oh yeah, Kathi LOVES those tight deadlines. I do promise I will get back to Crossing Paths. Chapter One got some great love and helpful critting from my crit group and they’re clamoring for more. Do not despair all ye fans of Ethan and Rainie, they shall return!
Now, WIPpet, WIPpet good.