Writer’s Log: 2039

No, I’m not quite back in the saddle.

But, the nag I’m riding trods steady, buckless in fact. All I have to do is stay awake and vertical while she stumbles along, finds a creek, drinks her fill and gobbles some grass. Hopefully, both my ride and seat come together in a synchronous duet.

Fuck, I wish.

What does help though, is encouragement from family and friends who’ve bothered to read my latest stuff. And let’s be honest, my latest stuff is much better than nearly everything else I’ve written. So, although I’ve diss’d attaboys in the past, they sure feel good when you need one. Hearing from a friend, “This has some great phrases and is coming together as a solid base for a super story,” can keep ya going.

Maybe I /won’t/ give up just yet. Maybe I /can/ figure out what’s needed in the next five chapters. Maybe, just maybe, I /do/ have it in me to continue to completion.

If you know a writer or artist, and who doesn’t (you can swing a dead horse, oops, sorry sweet Glendolyn, and hit about a dozen of them), if you know one, give ’em a way-to-go, if for no other reason than you might get invited to their movie debut when their novel shoots star-ward. I’ve heard it happens. I read it in a story, once.


(FYI: for those of you who don’t know what the numbers mean – 2039 is the number of hours I’ve been tallying while I learn to write well. All on my way to 10,000.)

A bramble vine basket

Humanity evolved creating stuff.

Everyone in a tribe or clan contributed to the group’s survival. If things needed to get made, everyone (I imagine) pitched in. Sure some segregation of tasks took place, but I suspect most jobs were shared across gender, age and ability.

Here you see a simple bramble vine basket I made just for fun. (I later hung this up in a small tree in the woods thinking it might become a nest for some woodland bird.)


The thing is utterly simple yet effective. Crude but serviceable. Just what, we could imagine, some bygone set of folks traversing the hills and valleys of ancient lands — eons ago — might make, on the spot, to help them gather berries or herbs or for ceremonies to honor deities and spirits they found compelling.

It probably took me 30 minutes to weave from wandering bramble vines I found in the backyard. The effort was thoroughly fulfilling. Taking a weed and turning it into a functional tool easily cast my psyche back to a time I know our ancestors found invigorating.

In those times, everyone (I’m sure) participated in the survival of the People. Sharing was a built-in response to everything that was done. If you had two, you gave one away to another in need. Of course you did. And you did this knowing when they had two, they would do the same for you.

The unit of survival was the group, the tribe, the clan. Your kin were all those people around you who knew you and protected you — and you protected them. When the group needed housing you all pitched in. When the clan needed to process an animal — all were on deck. When you found a cache of vines to make baskets, you picked all you could, shared the resource and if you wove many, passed them out without expectation of recompense (not entirely, but the spirit was there).

I think we’ve lost that altruistic sense of collective prosperity — enacted on a daily basis. Giving when you can. Accepting kindness when you can’t.

A simple, empty basket seems the most unlikely symbol of charity, don’t you think? But, filled with wild-picked berries, you can see what a gift it might be.