My Muse is Out Wandering

You’ll notice I didn’t manage to get up a post yesterday and that makes me pretty bummed. It was a weirdly busy day where I just never got the time to sit down, find a prompt, and let my inspiration hit me enough to get anything worthy out. But I’ll have two little pieces in this post to try to make up for it. I mean maybe it’s okay I didn’t do anything yesterday because I’ve just been lacking in the feeling creative boat lately. It’s like I am constantly distracted by other things all day and then by the time I try to get down to business and write I am stupidly exhausted and writing seems like a chore. I never like to try to write when that’s how I am feeling but you gotta do it sometimes and push that feeling aside. I’m still waiting for my mood to do a 180 and to just feel inspired beyond belief to pull out some good pieces but until that comes I hope you’ll put up with whatever I manages to come out.

Last night when I was mentally kicking myself for not meeting the daily writing goal I began to think of past little notes I’ve jotted down, just things that come to me out of nowhere and strike a nerve that I feel I should be exploring that topic more. I dug out my notebook where I keep these and one that I was drawn to, like I always am, was one that said, “Lighting? Beautiful or Bad?”. I’ve been just enamored with lighting/thunder/storms for as long as I can remember and any time I can sit up, or outside especially, and watch it all transpire I feel really centered and peaceful, and yeah inspired. So I put a pin in it and told myself to come back today when I sat down to write and it’s not a long piece, definitely something I need to expand even more at some point, but I liked it. Could be a start of much bigger piece or to be used in some other work later on.


I don’t know what is is about lighting but I am completely taken by it. I feel compelled to sit and watch it when whenever it takes over the sky. I think it has to do with its capability to be both so beautiful yet destructive at the same time. I wonder with each flash which it was and which it wanted to be, and if it was destructive can it still be beautiful? And then I wonder how twisted it makes me when I realize that i watch i t partly to see if I can witness the destruction. And if I ever do will that forever erase the beauty? Lighting is a tricky thing because it demands your attention but challenges your affection.”


Like I said, not super long but there is something there. Something I feel is really good already and that could be even better if worked with more and molded into a full story or piece of a bigger one.


For today I went to a blog I follow on Tumblr, Write World, that is fantastic when it comes to providing little prompts or inspiration to get people going. I don’t always do their activities but I’ll often come across an image or a sentence block and think to myself how it could be worked into something or the focal point of a whole story. I went back and browsed their sentence blocks tag for something to jump out at me and this one felt like something I could work with. It could be the vagueness of it or it could be that this week at work I spent an afternoon hand writing our return address on envelopes because we lost our stamper, either way here’s what I got.

There’s no return address. But there isn’t a name on the tan expanse of the package. Just his address elegantly written precisely in the middle of the thin rectangle box. All signs logically pointed to not opening it, to just bring it to the post office and let them know that while they got the right place he had no idea who could have sent his house something, it didn’t even say ‘current resident’ so who was to say it wasn’t for his house and not its occupant.? But then there was the fact it was wrapped in the material paper grocery bags used to be made of, think and mostly durable, the obvious detail and work that went into the two small lines of text to navigate the journey of this particular package, and the way it weighed virtually nothing in his singular hand it seemed pretty unlikely much danger was sealed inside.

Menacing things were hidden behind chicken scratch carelessly jotted down or cut and paste letters from magazines right? Certainly not a perfect fold and tuck wrap job either, it had a heaviness to it and would be in a generic post office envelope. At least that’s the conclusion he came to as he unlocked the door and carried the delicate object under his arm and into his kitchen. Ditching the rest of this belongings on the counter he took a seat on a stool at the middle of his counter and stared a little longer as if they shared even more silence any actual harm might seep out and make itself known.

But ten minutes pass and nothing happens but his curiosity and assurance that he’d get a worse, or at least stronger, gut feeling if the intentions within the wrapping were negative in their existence. Reaching out he flips the box over and begins to slowly pick at the tape so as not to disturb the hard work put into the perfect presentation. When the last piece lifts up the heavy paper falls open around the thin, not even a half-inch, mint box that was graced with the same steady handed cursive as the address on the outside simply reading, ‘open me’.

Gripping the edges with his nimble fingers he pulls up and when only a slight shift happens he begins to wiggle the entire package, shaking out the bottom half from the piece his fingers still clung to. After a few good shimmies there is a soft thud of the box on the paper and he lays the top on the side out-of-the-way. Inside is an ivory envelope declaring, ‘me too!’ and photograph slightly larger than a typical post card. The picture was taken from the deck of what could only be assumed a extravagantly beautiful home that over looked an ocean calm in the presence of a rising sun. The sky is still a deep navy at the top edges of the photo and progress towards a powder blue speckled with pinks, oranges, and slight hints of purple in some areas with the distinct round shape of the sun climbing. There is a beach and a tall wall of rocks on the left side of the image while the water continues to spread out and over the right. It’s a breathtaking photo and almost difficult to believe a place like that really exists in the world. Tearing his eyes away he picks up the envelope and slides out the thick, expensive stationary paper and unfolds it to a full-page of the lovely script all over the package already.

If you’ve been daring, or maybe dumb, enough to open the package you’re reading this and should also be warned that by the time you do so you’ll likely be reading the words of a dead woman. I could tell you my story, give that more explanation but what’s it really matter? Long story short; 

Cancer sucks.

But life certainly doesn’t. If it did would there be such exquisite places like the one in the picture you’ve also received for a sick person to look and live in for the remaining days she has? That place is real. As real as the letter in your hands and the doubts you had in opening a nameless and untraceable package that made its way to your door. I don’t know if you’ve never seen a place so disgustingly gorgeous but I hadn’t till I was looking up “ways to get over your cancer diagnosis” and some list said to visualize a happy place and something like this appeared beside it. After some research I found the location and booked a one way ticket.

It’s every bit as nirvana as it looks in the picture, reminding me that while some obnoxious disease eats away at my insides and time left it doesn’t eat away at my ability to enjoy.

I don’t know your story and you don’t know mine but I randomly selected your address just so I could share with you that despite even big, fat, unflattering lows in life there are equal highs. This is somewhere around the 137th letter and photo I’ve sent out, one for every day I’ve been here, and while I don’t know how many more I’ll get to send just the idea other people are getting to see this is uplifting. I hope it might help you with your day, week, month, year, or any battle you might be facing and that it confirms a belief that life can suck but it isn’t defined by those instances.

xoxo, a possibly dead, but very happy, stranger. 


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