Odd Prompts: Never

Never say never

I prompted myself. I’ve been feeling like I’ll never be able to write again. These last two years have played merry havoc with my ability to write. There are days I say to myself ‘never again.’ I should just hang it all up. And then… then I see a lovely review on a book. I have someone comment on how the art makes them smile every day. I hear from a fan who wants more of the Tanager crew, or Lom, or… I can’t say never. Not that I’d be doing this for those who encourage me. Not really. They just remind me of why I do what I do in public. I mean, I could absolutely write and then save the file and move on with my life. Nothing says I need to put in the time and effort to format, to market. To try and learn how Amazon ads work, so I can reach new fans who don’t know I exist yet. I don’t have to publish. 

I could just… not. When I’m tired, this tempts me. I’m so often tired. Then again, those days are far less frequent than they were in years past. These days I overdo, and take longer to recover than I think I ought, because I’m not twenty any longer. This month’s birthday puts me on the shady side of my forties. It’s been a lifetime since twenty. I have three children in their twenties now. 

I have a lot of memories. I have a lot of stories still waiting to come out. I’m not going to quit. I’m just going to take a little longer to do stuff, not just writing. I’m going to keep settling into this house, spending time with my husband. Hoarding precious moments and memories against the inevitable march of time towards inexorable loneliness. The words will come back. I think. I’m pretty sure, anyway. I have faith. 

There are times you can safely say ‘never again’ and I have. There was a bright line drawn between the woman I was, and the woman I needed to be. A clean break, finally, and a rebirth on the other side of something that hatched phoenix-like into a wet, hot mess of pinfeathers and goo. Chicks are only cute and fluffy and popcorn-energetic after a few hours. Those first hours of life outside the shell, the strange unyielding place where they first developed? They are so tired. They lie there and gasp and soak up the heat that keeps them alive until their bodies are big enough to generate it on their own. They rely on what is left of their yolks for a day before they must have food they peck up on their own. Phoenix chicks rise from the embers, but without that flame they can’t burst forth… 

Not sure where I was going with that. Other than I look back at the hot mess I was, and where I am now, working the thermals to get up to a comfortable gliding level. I’ve come a long way. I have a long way to go.

I’d been working on something with MidJourney last week, and generated the above image. I was looking at it, thinking about the bleak post-apocalyptic world I’d summoned with my words. But then, something else occurred to me. Ash and bone are both great for the soil. Once the rains fall, and the earth absorbs the ash and bone, the green will rush back in more than ever before. The crops will flourish in the renewed fields. The ash and bone imply tragedy and waste… and they are. Once it is done? It can never be undone. Only movement forward, into the world enriched by the loss. Silver linings to the tears that fell, in some small measure making the end into a beginning. 

Related posts:

Odd Prompts: Jack’s Stick Snapshot Odd Prompts: The White Stag Jack’s Quest: Odd Prompts