The first rain in fifteen days arrived today. Driest fall in sixty-seven years in this neck of the woods, or so say the experts. The dogs are on the floor, in front of the wood stove, drying off after their walk. They look quite content and in no hurry to go anywhere, thank you very much. Me, I’m thinking this is a good morning to do some reading, in front of that same wood stove, as snug as a bug in the rug, a shout out to my dad, who said that often when tucking me in at night.
When tucking me in at night . . .
Makes me think of all those kids out there, in the big, cruel world, who have no bed to be tucked into, all those kids who have no parents to do the tucking, all those kids who would do just about anything to trade places with me.
I was watching a documentary last night about drug lords in Mexico, all of the random deaths, citizens in the wrong place at the wrong time, and I followed that cheerful documentary up with one about poverty in Jamaica, five miles from Five-Star resorts, and I thought about the randomness of it all, how some of us are just plain lucky while others wouldn’t even know how to spell luck.
5,000 people in England stood in the rain for hours, waiting their turn to take a swab test to see if their blood matched the blood of a dying child badly in need of a transfusion. Random strangers reaching out to help a child they do not know. I cried without shame when I read that . . . fake news? I doubt it, but even if it was, it’s the kind of fake news I prefer to read these days.
People often ask me where my ideas come from. Are they kidding? On any given day, if I open my eyes and ears, inspiration is waiting for me. It’s on the news, on the streets, from every corner of the world, just waiting for me to notice it and write about it in story form. Some of my novels have graphic violence, and I didn’t have to dream it up. Check out the latest on Mexican drug cartels and the murder of innocents south of our border. Check out the random acts of violence on American streets. My novels may be fiction, but they are definitely based on reality.
It comes down to awareness and empathy for me. I suspect most writers are overflowing with both qualities.
Random thoughts on this Monday morning as the drizzle drizzles and the woodstove smoke rises above it all.
Bill
“Helping writers to spread their wings and fly.”
Billybuc
Artistry With Words 