As i write this i wonder, why does the thought of a short story always start with the idea of murder for me. Violent and methodical, bits of people chopped into tiny bite size bits..the problem of the blood is always daunting. A good murder shouldn't be just slash and gore, it ought to be artfully detailed. Even if it begans looking at the corpse. Why was this one killed? what drove the murderer? Life is always a compounding of events. Usually starting in some far off childhood. or even before perhaps written from a James Michner beginning of the world point of view. We are all after all composed of starstuff. Poetry is easier for me, i can get in and out. I remember my seventh grade teacher trying to be encouraging about short story writing with me and my being angry. The class room was dark in the late afternoon, and she was being kind. I was angry..The confusing thing is i don't know why. She only wanted to encourage me to write. Yet there the writers block already was. Perhaps it went further back to third grade or before. age four and the development of a lisp, my mother worked hard with speach therapists to scrub it out. I don't remember before age four. The tale goes about that time i was in a childrens care home for
the summer while mother worked. Grandfather had died during the year of age three, along with J.f.k I had a coat like John Johns, and believed dramaticly i was to be murdered next. Funny what lays around in our subconciousness. Last weekend briefly i worked in a flowershop, which also wholesales casketts. It was much too close to the grave for me. In this year of the grave A year ago thanksgiving, my roommates brother began dieing swiftly of cancer, he was gone before easter. He was a king of a fellow. I wished desperately for the arcane powers of Christ. That i might heal his sickness, i think i helped slow it perhaps for a time. There is much about magic and miricle
that requires positive thinking. Many of the gospels tales of such actions have the miricle worker attempting to bind the subject with silence
I think that is because, if you listen to others tell you are ill, you do not believe you are well. Of course all of us are passing through this bright realm called earth. Savoring its small and delicous delights of virtue and vice. Last night i saw, "The Libertine" with Johnny Depp, and John Malchovich, i think they ought to get nominated for an academy award oscar for that. Watching the directors cuts was interesting to see how the storyline had been edited. Step over that corpse there, she has a peaceful smile doesn't she? never mind the throat slashed ear to ear, and yet no blood, curious isn't it..but then she is a wax maniquin. If i had a christmas wish, and i am careful about what i wish for, i would wish to open the blocked channels of my mind and write past emotions holding sway since childhood. Perhaps glories trees of ink and light would grow then. ..Rich tales beyond murder most foul forthcomming. Wait the body is holding something a note in one hand. ..it reads..."Good Luck".