Evening and huzzah, goda människor, from a basement out here in central Minnesota. I hope this missive finds you all safe, sound, hearty, and hale. Nearly bedtime around these parts, but I wanted to hop and post something before hitting the rack.
It's been a week since Halloween, a week since the end of October, a week since the culmination of Short As Fictober, my self-imposed, month-long writing journey. I haven't written much of anything since then, but I have had a moment to reflect on the experience and make a plan of sorts.
In the preface to his essay collection, Zen in the Art of Writing, Ray Bradbury writes "And what, you ask, does writing teach us? First and foremost, it reminds us that we are alive and that it is a gift and a privilege, not a right. We must earn life once it has be awarded us. Life asks for rewards back because it has favored us with animation" (xii).