Sometimes there are no words to say, and sometimes there are too many words to say, and usually when that happens, either one … or both, then there’s nothing to say.
In my writing I’ve been practicing transitions. Often times in a story you want to skip the boring parts, sure your characters have to live it, but no one wants to read about the morning routine, especially when it’s the same as every morning routine, with nothing different and nothing to make it stand apart.
Lately life has had the adventures, time up in Idaho exploring national parks and places so remote even the wandering cell tower will not visit there. While the time up there is worth writing about, and might be something I share, with pictures, another time… the time leading up to it, and the time after getting back are worthy of those practiced passages of time.
“Every day passed as though in a blur, time went by, work continued, and the routine tried with it’s daily quest to kill me, each day I survived the attempts, but not without the scars of mediocrity. The brief flirtation with light and hope was not enough to bring a sunrise, and the black and white of the daily brown echoed through me, suffocating.”
“Day by day, everything changed, but nothing ever really changed. The color brown saturated our lives, where before there was a hope, and a hint of light at the end of the tunnel, now I have come to realize it was just something in my eye. Yet I kept to the daily cadence, the lonely sound of my own forward momentum the last slow heartbeats of a world in despair. All is not lost, but all is not found either. I kept on because keeping on is what I do. Some would call this a depression and beg me to find some medication to dilute my vision and create an illusion of beauty, but I knew that with such a ‘solution’ the steady, yet pitiful pace, would come to a halt, stopping the heartbeat of the world.”
“Time passed, that’s what it does, kids got bigger, and I got older, but nothing really changed.”
“There’s nothing much to say.”