The logical part of me insists that superstitions are stupid.
The logical part of me insists there’s no such thing as “jinxing” something.
Then there’s that other part of me, the one that pushes all logic aside.
Take this scenario for instance: I get some good news. News about something that’s going to happen in the near future. I could get excited about it. I could celebrate it. I could tell people about my achievement.
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We’re barely inside the Mojave National Preserve when I see the cow. Actually, I smell it first. The town is called Cima, though town is a pretty generous word for it. There’s a general store though, so we pull over to see if it’s open. It’s not. |
I’m getting sick of writing short stories.
Partly because no one wants to publish them.
The rejection letters keep rolling in and I keep shrugging them off, but it does make you start to wonder what you’re doing. (A few weeks ago I got two rejection letters in one day, and one of them came only two days after I’d sent the story out. Two days! It only took them two days to decide they weren’t interested!)
What to get for two Fallout fans who are getting married in the Mojave Desert? A Fallout: New Vegas themed wedding survival kit, obviously.
Even though the bamboo belongs to me it’s been such a fixture in the office that bringing it home felt slightly forbidden. A kidnapping.
At 5:30 on April 30th I wrapped my bamboo in plastic and slipped it furtively out the door. And how did I feel when we made it safely to my little lime green getaway car? Free.
It used to be the biggest town in Nevada. That was a long time ago, when there was still gold in the hills. Now it’s a nothing place, a dusty town you might accidently drive
It's not that writer's block is unfamiliar to me. But usually it takes a different form than it has with my most recent short story.
I’m shy.
That’s all there is to it.