My Work Partner

My work partner is my computer.

What a complicated character is the computer? Not an old character, most likely about 36 years old. Its development was a bit older so let's say about 42. So what does this character do for storytelling 1) writes, 2) records, 3) videotapes, 4) prints projects, 5) shares links, 6) shares messages, and 7) shares emails around the virtual expandable vast web. Beware of the bugs and don't get caught while surfing in a net, although fun, by observing what others have pinned to their nets as charms. Remember on a web one side is sticky; you can get stuck and held.  

AS IS Productions for BobbieTales,  Bobbie Kinkead

No new stories only repeats of the same plots.

The storytellers have for centuries, forever, told traditional stories that have a simple plot: “Once upon a time there lived so-and-so in a land far away.” The time, characters, place settled then to the event to solve, climax, and conclusion. Simple!

The ancient fable Hare and the Turtle,
The set-up – careful Turtle slower that the over-confident Hare;
event - a race;
final event – arrogant Hare (nemesis) falls asleep;
climax- slow, plodding Turtle (protagonist) wins;
and conclusion – Hare can’t believe the Turtle won, and neither can the Turtle believe she won.

The basic plot remains the same, speaking to our genetic bodies. Verbal stories are inbred into our spirits, souls, and physic centuries before writing, photos, movies, or computers. The bones of our stories connect to our bones. We have heard stories for eons in many versions. Writers and storytellers tailor narratives for us; they enhance, fabricate, and re-image the characters and places, and use basic plots. Think about all novels and movies based on The Hare and Turtle. The same simple plot satisfies the teller, writer, listener, reader, and viewer.

I have a secret about my writing, something few know.

I have secrets my readers would never know from my work?

I think they would if taught from the DICK, JANE. and SALLY the reader book for first and second grades. Called SITE reading from the PICTURES. Look at the picture: what do you see? what are they doing this? who do you see? where is this happening? and how are they doing this? I can still see the pictures and not the words on the other page. No spelling or grammar, just looking at the picture. This, those, it, that, here, there, all vague words to put into the picture.

So when I started writing, what were given in school was diddos --- fill in the blanks, no multi-choice, a, b, c, d.  Is that writing, NO, absolutely not. So injured children went forth into the world as laborers.

You want to know what else, no phonics  -- just a bunch of letters to memorize for the spelling test.  No writing career, years of repair, even to speech the English language was horror, I had to make-up my words to speak and for letters of words with no sounds -→ (I was creative); so I became a visual reader, my first language. Sound is next, and you know what words are not spelled as they sound. How is that for a non-reader, tragedy, destruction - because I was considered poor and went to a poor school with deprived children.

Why is this education still today going on?

I have rituals to enter the ZONE of writing!

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My RITUAL for WRITING

Well, usually sitting in a chair outside in the fresh air watching the birds, which are the muses for my writing. These spirits squall, sing, dash about, rest in a tree, or quietly sit on a nest, maybe even watch me watching them. They could be shape-shifters, waiting.

 

I'm taken into their InBetween, my reality mixes with theirs - I find I'm flying, relaxed, cheerful, I'm ready.

So, in this feeling of the InBetween realms, gliding, swinging, sliding, singing, I head for my computer, turn it on, find the right blog or story/chapter on Scrivener and start writing.

If I need refreshing, I sat outside again. In the winter, I walk in the rain around my yard and wonder where the birds are. Usually, one or two appear. If there is a storm, I watch from my window, soon one flies by and looks at me, as if saying, "Write!"

My muses are always outside in their realm, cheering.

OOPS, well, there are the predators, the CROWS, who come in to eat and destroy the home of the JAYS, who eat and kill the smaller birds. Then the squirrels do their damage to my miniature MUSES.  And, hovering overhead can be an owl or hawk. I do hear this disturbance and horror. I am amazed the smaller birds, my muses, survive.

Then one smallest of a wee bird pecks on my window, I'm not sure what this symbolizes. The pecking happens when I'm busily typing. A camellia grows close to the window. The wee bird hops from branch to branch, pecking as a bird does on the leaves hunting for bugs.

My world with Covid-19?

READ Predator bubble.

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My world is holding up. I feel tired because of all the fighting about what, when, where and who is running the show. At this time nemesis, Covid-19 is in the limelight and steals all the action while the other characters fight to see who will be heard.

I do not want to die, I have many, many stories to edit.

This month I'm in the A2Z Blog Challenge, with emotions for each letter with blurs about a story for that emotion. Then editing the written story in Grammarly.com and posting on Bublish.com and putting the story back the corrections into Scrivener to produce an ePub, kindle, and book-on-demand.

How is this for putting off DEATH?