2 Minute Read:
2017’s eclipse made me feel small and insignificant, but not in a bad way. I only mean that the perspective adjustment was well-timed. I can’t believe the volume of petty grievance I let bother me from day to day. What an utter waste of time and brain power. Everything from where I’ll live next year, to why my car is so dirty and sometimes my writing sucks, and how sometimes I want to cry big ugly tears over my sheer brilliance and why I can’t just live in the sweet spot between the two… I think I’ve made my point. I need to chill and let myself have a good time for whatever’s left of it.
During the two minutes of midnight at 10:00 on Monday morning, I realized that when I’d decided—after reading some data from an online survey—I need to write a piece of magical realism, it wasn’t a moment of silliness. I’m on to something and ideas abound, especially when you take the ordinary and turn it on its ear, bastardize it, torture it. What makes our hearts pound more than uncovering the little glitches in the world around us, those little bits of the fantastic? What makes you feel more alive than encountering a tiny slice of the unexplained right there in your little world, then carrying on with life since there’s nothing to be done about it?
Time to find out what lurks in even in the briefest of dark hours.