CONTINUED RANDOMNESS
Way back in another lifetime I (we) owned an Arabian mare.
She was a majestic creature, unbelievably beautiful, and one seriously willful animal.
On early mornings I would grab a cup of coffee, go out into the pasture, and sit on a stump to enjoy the peacefulness of it all. I could always count on Regal walking over to me, air pluming from her nostrils, the sun slowly rising in the east over the fir trees, the sounds of the countryside rising in volume, and I would reach into my pocket and pull out an apple for her. She would then nuzzle my shoulder, man and animal, joined together, finding a common bond of trust . . . great memories!
I’m reminded of those times every day now when I got out to our son’s farm to feed the chickens. They have three horses there, plus about fifty goats, and there is always someone seeking attention from this human. It’s real hard not to smile when I’m at the farm . . . I don’t even try to frown.
I like the relationship between farmer and farm animals. We really get down to basics . . . I will feed you and provide shelter, and in turn you will provide what I need, whether it be food, fibers, meat, or just companionship.
I’m a lucky man!
ABOUT LUCK
Some say there is no such thing as bad luck or good luck. Others say you make your own luck by the choices you make. I guess I straddle the fence on that one and take the road less traveled. I don’t like the word luck. I think we greatly affect the outcome of an event by doing the necessary work in advance and yes, that applies to a writer and his viewership/sales.
Most of you, I’m sure, will agree with me when I say writing a book is the easiest part of selling that book; without marketing and determination, sales will be limited to family and close friends.
And maybe that’s fine with you. It is with me. I have no illusions of great sales, no expectations, and no dreams. If it happens it happens; if not, I’m secure and happy in my life. And I find that to be a very cool place to reside.
So I don’t much need luck as much as I need the wisdom to continue doing what I’m already doing. Why rock the apple cart when the pavement is perfectly smooth?
THE MAGICIAN’S SHADOW
It’s been a year! It really is hard to believe I’m even typing those words. It’s been a full year since I worked on my latest novel, The Magician’s Shadow. As many of you know, it is half-done, and it has been patiently waiting for me to continue for twelve long months now.
That time is now four weeks away. I can feel the creative juices flowing in my veins in anticipation.
Here is the prologue to that novel:
“Mary had a little lamb, its fleece was white as snow.”
He sang as he continued with his work. He considered it vitally important that a person enjoy his or her work. How boring it must be, he thought, factory workers who do the same thing, day in, day out, week after month after year, mind-numbing work, spirit-breaking work, and at the end of their fifty years they receive a plaque, a series of handshakes, and the heart attack follows shortly.
That would not be his fate, for greatness does not fade into oblivion.
It began, for him, shortly after his tenth birthday. A dream had come to him, and in that dream he was The Magician, not a magician as in a description of his craft, but The Magician, the greatest ever, a man of such incredible talent as to defy all laws of nature, to defy all logic, a man who could not be described by mere labels such as “illusionist, enchanter, or conjurer,” for how does one describe the impossible?
He stood on the shoreline and looked at his latest work of art. It was perfect in every way. The young girl was exquisitely staged. The authorities would come to the scene in a matter of hours. They would look for evidence. They would hold countless meetings where they would share theories. They would hold press conferences and assure the public that the case would be solved soon, but to themselves they would admit that they were stymied, completely in the dark, for how could such a thing have happened? And how could it happen three times?
They would call in other experts, and more theories would be postulated, and more meetings held, but still no answers would arrive, (for the impossible has no explanation), and then their greatest fears would be realized.
It was all perfect in every way, but he expected nothing less of himself.
He was, after all, The Magician!
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As you can see, this will be another lighthearted romp through the mind of a serial killer. LOL
I have to run. There’s painting to do outside while the weather is still cooperating. Have a great week of being human.
Bill
Billybuc
Artistry With Words 