What would I do for Free?

What job would you do for free?

DAILY PROMPT RESPONSE

A Writer

The unfinished projects have formed a pile. Ideas, rants, and incoherent sentences fester. Sometimes I wonder what Goofball gave me the idea to become a writer. Where the hell are they at? I need to hunt them down wherever they may cleverly hide. To the corners of the earth if I must. By God, I need to find and look at them square in the eyes and thank them. Pull them into an embrace. Please do not think less of me, for I may weep. They have provided me with a fantastic gift. You see, boredom will never be a problem for me. Inside each project is the potential to create something that never existed before. At the very least, the potential to heal.


Today has been the longest of days for no reason. Nothing I can put my finger on anyway. I got so much accomplished, but so much more to do. There isn’t enough time to get it all done. I never complete it all. My Lord, what will I do? What will I do? We have all said this statement, felt it, or both. It doesn’t matter if you don’t admit it. It’s fine. Know that wherever you are in your journey, we all have or will walk it. The trail right in front of you. You can get to the other side step by step, word by word, or sentence by sentence. Whatever the method you will be the better for it.


As I lay across my bed, I lit a cigarette, letting it burn in the ashtray for a few minutes before I took another drag. I read a poem in Vietnamese, then I listened to it. Next, I read some prose in Italian; then again, I listened to it. The beauty of the words captured me. I’m reminded of hearing The Holy Quran recited. So beautiful and tranquil. I’m reminded how much I miss Latin Mass. I memorized it as a lad and recited it in English when the priests performed Mass. Though exhausted, hearing these works in their native language healed and recharged me a bit.


I would not have discovered the beauty of our world if I had chosen another profession on the day they whispered to me to become a writer. Although we live in a vast world full of wonder and delight, I wonder why we live so small.

Nope, this is the only profession I would do for free. Nothing else completes me.

Armonia

Will you remember me when your famous? 
It is so lovely for you to say so, but I know that you wont. 
To be honest, I would probably forget me too. 
So experience, conquer, and live shamelessly. 

You see I know that I am nothing more than….
A whisper of a stranger 
A smile from a fond memory 
We all know that memories wither and fade 

So I add another log onto the fire of life 
Every so often I poke it 
To see the spark, hear the pop, and feel the warmth 
While I sit in admiration and silence …

Pulling the Pen

Daily writing prompt
How do you want to retire?

SHORT FICTION – PROSE/LIGHT RANT

Harold Shea is an ordinary fellow, as fellows go. He has no grand stories about this girl or that girl. He is a simple chap who eats tuna on toasted rye. Harold and I are clerks at the Ministry of Useless Facts and Random Memories. A person becomes a clerk if they have a knack for remembering and cataloging trivial information. Our job is to sift through old documents and archives, searching for forgotten tidbits of knowledge that may one day prove useful.

Harold is a diligent worker, and he takes pride in his work. He always arrives early and stays late, poring over old manuscripts and dusty tomes. He has a particular fondness for historical trivia and, from time to time, found regaling his coworker Venus Milo with tales of obscure battles and forgotten rulers.

Despite his unremarkable nature and unassuming demeanor, Harold is a valuable member of our team. Without his tireless efforts, many of the useless facts and random memories that we collect would be lost to the sands of time.

Harold is also a kind and thoughtful person. He is always willing to lend a helping hand to his coworkers. Last week, for instance, one of our colleagues was struggling to find a particular piece of information for a project. Harold spent hours searching through old records until he found what she was looking for. He did all of this without expecting anything in return.

Despite his many admirable qualities, Harold is not without his quirks. For one thing, he can be a bit absent-minded at times. On more than one occasion, he has misplaced important documents or forgotten to submit reports on time. However, his forgetfulness is more than made up for by his enthusiasm and dedication.

Everything changed about six months ago. I came into the office, and everyone was in a tizzy. It isn’t like it was the first time the office was in this state. Harold usually got things in order rather quickly. However today, no Harold. He has never been late a day in thirty years. I tended to the disaster but never took my mind off what could have possibly happened to Harold. Then I was called into the Director’s office.

“Thank you for sorting out that dreadful mess.” said the Director

“It was nothing, Ma’am,” I replied.

“Harold?” She asked. I shrugged and walked out.

After stopping by Harold’s weekly for the next six months, I received a package at the Ministry. The package sat on my desk for another month before I remembered it. When I opened the package, there was a letter from Harold.

Dear Seamus,
I know this package has been sitting on your desk for about a month. I’m well. Venus and I have retired and living in my favorite place. Do you remember? Of course you do, you don’t forget anything. I miss you, ole chap. I haven’t had a decent conversation in months. Perhaps, you can down and keep Venus and me company.

~H

Well, that rascal, I thought. I had no idea that he and Venus had a thing. Why wouldn’t he tell me?

I guess there are a lot of things to consider when you’re thinking about “Pulling the Pen.”

Extra! Extra! Read all About It.

What jobs have you had?

Like most of us here, we’ve had plenty of jobs before finding the one that stuck. I cringe, thinking about some of the things I did to make money.

However, there is one job I think of fondly. I was a paperboy. If it’s hard to imagine me being a paperboy, let me provide a visual; think of the paperboy in the John Cusack classic “Better Off Dead.”

Let’s take a look, shall we?

Sighs … Me and the gang chasing down deadbeats. The things you remember … The good times…sighs

~thank you for reading~

Diary of a Workaholic (Take 1)

How do you balance work and home life?

I come from a time when workaholics ruled. This isn’t spoken from a place of pride but rather a place where, thinking back, I wish I would have made better decisions about the use of my time. There are events I missed out on. Moments I can’t get back. Though I wish I could, but it doesn’t work that way, does it?

One minute, my daughters are playing with dolls, and next, I’m staring into the face of some goofy-looking chucklehead. Who has the sand to mumble something like

“Nice to meet you, Sir. I’m”

I never seem to catch their names. The wife swore it was because I’m a certified asshole when it came to my daughters. When she first said it, I felt wounded. I’m not an asshole; I’m a dick, asshole, no. One day explained this to her for clarity. Her response,

“Yep, you’re a dick, alright.”

I sighed, feeling vindicated. Then she went into a rant as she walked about something I can’t remember. I read somewhere this happens to people who suffer traumatic events. However, I do remember feeling maybe I should have let that one go, and from that point, asshole was just fine.

I was gone a lot for work, then one day, I became Papaw. The oddest thing. Who is this little creature pulling on your finger because their little hands are so small that’s all they can grab ahold of.

Where did the time go? Man, I learned a great deal about life.; its triumphs and pitfalls. I even had an opportunity on occasion to take part in some and prevent some of the others. I’m an old man trying to do his part to make a difference.

So, when it comes to finding the balance? If you figured it out. I mean really got something, don’t say a word until copyrighted and patented. Then, put it up for sale and become an instant millionaire.

Oh yeah, post your links, so I can get my Pre-order in.

~thank you for reading~

Can You Dig It?

What do you do to be involved in the community?

When it comes to being involved in community
it boils down to this

We our brothers and sisters in the struggle; doing with what we can to
stand above the churn.

The churn gives not one iota, who you are, where you come from, nor the color of your skin. It will scoop your ass with no quarter.

Put simply

Life is tough enough, without any additional nonsense. So, let’s help one another the best we can.

Can you dig it ?

Never give up; Never Surrender

RANDOM THOUGHT – A RANT? – PEP TALK?

I write these words for an unknown reason. Something keeps gnawing at me to speak, but I do not know what. Yet, I’m sure many writers have faced this exact issue, not knowing what to say or how to say it. I recall long ago when I decided writing was something I was passionate about doing for the rest of my life. Also, I remember feeling no one wanted to hear what I had to say. So I wrote my thoughts, dreams, ideas, and fears in a notebook. I hid its contents from the world. If I am being honest, I hid them from myself. The instance I doubted myself, I became defeated. A player in a rigged game, and I didn’t even know the rules.

Back then, you seldom heard words like; depression, anxiety, or low self-esteem. However, I remember phrases like, “Stop being a pussy” or “Get your shit together.” Today, people attempt to listen to the problems we face. It’s kind of nice. Anxiety, depression, and other mental issues are real. We must, as a people and society, respect them. Witnessing people getting the help they need and being true to themselves is beautiful. Yet, like everything, we go a little overboard if people let us. Somehow, amidst all the self-imposed crap, I kept writing. I’m not even sure how or why.

I kept looking for external validation of my talent. As if I needed someone to walk up to me and say, “Man, you’re one hell of a writer.” Yes, of course, this happens. Sometimes comments, reviews, and other accolades are plenty and fulfilling. However, what do we do when they don’t come? Your inbox is empty, and a deafening silence surrounds you. People you’ve asked to read your work avoid you. They are swamped now, “They haven’t had the time to read.” Or they give you, my favorite, the delicious lie. “My God, your work was amazing. I couldn’t stop reading. I read everything on site.” This utterance is coupled with a plastic smile and hollow sentiment. 

What do you do?

You turn to a blank page and pick up a pen. Then, write your ass off. Whatever it is you’re feeling. Let it fly. Write the good, the bad, and the ugly. Tell it straight and write true. Let no one tell you any different, and when they do, simply look at them, and say, “Yahoo…Kiss my Grits!” Flo would be proud. No matter what, keep writing. It may not turn out you make it to The NY Times bestseller list. Or you may never win a covenant prize. However, what you have done is tell a portion of your story. I hope you realize this happens in every story we write. Don’t worry about it, and it’s okay; it’s just fine.

Sometimes my journal is my confessional, and my readers are my priests. Yet, some things chronicled within those pages are mine, and I bear their weight alone as we do with certain things. My method or ideas aren’t for everyone, but writing them, and getting that crap out of my head, has kept me on this side of the veil. Where I have the hope of happiness, the urge for acceptance, and the whisper of redemption, I speak of it too loud; it may become vapor.

Somewhere in these words, I suppose, is a message to you, the reader, a pep talk of sorts. Yet, as I finish the closing sentence, this is nothing more than a pep talk to myself. I hope I listen.

~thank you for reading~

lifestyle

POETRY – HUMOR

I put a whole lot of effort into
releasing the pain in my heart.
It was supposed to

Sooothe

me

I need to curb my addiction
Google is not a lifestyle

Closed Blinds

POETRY – MINDFULNESS

With a push of a button, the television screen goes blank, removing that annoying hum that fills our homes for the better part of the day. A hum we seldom realize exists until it has gone. Then, finally, we notice how peaceful your life has just become.

I sat down by my window
and opened the blinds

From my window, I see
a world absent of law

No quarter for those who want it
No quarter for those in need
There was none, even for those
who drop to their knees and plead.

From my window, I witness
the darkness of the light,

the woman adjusting her clothes
because she just made her rent in the backseat
the man whose rent vanished in a puff of smoke
the child who wonders about their next meal
because their father just drank it away

from my window, I see light
through the darkness

the young man helping the older couple
a reminder that there is still courtesy, although fading
the blooms of the flowers in an overgrown garden
steadily growing, steadily fighting,
as we should, like every moment was our last

from my window, I witness those
who will not bow

Those whose faith is unwavering
those who love unconditionally
with no concern for themselves
those who continue to fight
though is no sign of hope

In this window, I have seen
many things

things that you want to fix but cannot
things that make us cry,
even if it is silently amongst a hundred

The things that will make a stand on mountaintops and cheer
The things that will make the strongest of men get up and walk away

These things and much more represent the ideal I have spent my life fighting for.

No wonder I can never close the blinds.

Thanks for reading!

Twilight, just before the dawn

The leather of my gloves crinkles 
as I tighten the reins 
My steeds trot becomes a gallop
We begin traveling through time …

through space …

arriving at a place unfamiliar 
Yet, it felt so safe …

Shimmering through the shadows
I’m drawn to a presence…
My heart begins to pound as I see you laying there
behind a veil of lace ….

Resting so peaceful… so full of grace …
I remove my cloak and armor 
I sit down in a chair beside the bed
Closing my eyes, drifting into your dreams 

There we make beautiful, passionate love 
in the twilight, just before dawn …