I have this baed habit of writing an explanation post for something that I’m dabbling in, giving a long-winded overview of my plans to pursue some grand project, and then… nothing. It falls out of mind and out of sight and a few years later I stumble across my public avowal to conduct some grand creative effort and wince at the memory, and the reminder that I never even tried a second time, let alone acheived project nirvana.

So as I write here that I had been struck by some creative lightning this morning and sat down to write out the results as a bit of narrative fiction, you dear reader, should understand that my efforts may vrery easily be a one-off even though I feel compelled to explain myself now.

I was struck by some creative lighting this morning and sat down to write out the results as a bit of narrative fiction.

(See what I did there?)

I may write more of that particular thread. I may not. What is more interesting is that I created a new content type on this website to fulfill the creative hankerings resulting from the oft-felt inspiration to just write something. As a result of today’s efforts, a burst of words that I labelled Cracking Wood for no other reason than the software requires that everything have a name and I prefer words to numbers, symbols and clever taxonomic filing systems for these things.

But the fiction? A mere few hundred words, but words nonetheless.

These words I wrote stemmed out of a couple of juxtaposing streams of thought in my mind.

First and a couple days ago, I wrote that post called The Wandering Guy wherein I lamented my lurking desire to live a more interesting life. Take that as you will, but essentially it’s that slow burn of a mid-life crisis that reminds us of our own mortality and having our lack of thrill-seeking adventure and amazingness throwing into our faces via social media, mocking us, as we’re locked down in our neighbourhoods during a pandemic … it has a way of squeezing out through the cracks.

Second, a few of us met for a short social run last night and as we dodged through the trails we came across a hefty tree fallen across the path. Ten meters tall. I couldn’t have hugged my arms around the trunk. This is not a strange occurance in nature, but we were in a groomed trail in the heart of the city, and the tree was splintered and busted up, branches splayed out all over the place, bits of stressed wood shattered by the crack and impact and whatever forces cause these things. It hung high enough across the way for us to crouch underneith it. “Glad I wasn’t around when that guy fell down.” I had remarked to my group as we squeezed past.

So as far as seeds of inspiration go, that was it: one question to set a character down a metaphorical path. What if some guy who was out there kinda living a life, but not as broadly or amazingly as he felt he should, someone who was already feeling in a bit of a rut — what if he had a tree dropped on him. That’s it. So I started writing. And I posted it here. Unedited. Just… raw.

Enjoy. And maybe — just maybe — there will be more some day.

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