“You’ve got to write again,” he said.
“Just as daisies bloom as daisies
and roses bloom as roses—
you must bloom as a writer
and I must bloom as a painter.
Everything else about us is uninteresting.”
~Kurt Vonnegut, Mother Night.
To all viewers but yourself, what matters is the product – the finished artwork. To you, and you alone, what matters is the process: the experience of shaping the work.1
A struggle with my daily drabble. Three discordant points occupy my mind, defying order; a disparate triangle.
Kendrick Castillo. Student (their child!) dies defending his Colorado classmates during (another!) school shooting. We the People christen him a hero.
Kurt Cobain, beautiful, (self-deceased) idealist. All apologies.
Brown Bird in my garden, perched atop a sunburned finial. Teacup size, befitting call of teakettle, teakettle, teakettle. Translation: In the sun I feel as one.2
I am afraid of being a copycat; I am a scaredy-cat copycat!
And yet, this word/world has called me and pulled me close (sweet-n-safe breath, an almost-kiss square on my lips).
Drabble. I thought I knew his game – chitter-chatter prattle, purpose-less.
Wrong guy, she says. Drabble is not Drivel. She properly introduces us.
Drabble is different. Flexible and free, but with holding structure. No games. No exhausting ambiguity.
EXACTITUDE [100 words].
She says that she will be with him every day in May. I want to too.
How can there be enough to go around?
Just play friendly. Source: