how to surrender the storm

I was going to write tonight about squalls. About judging the thunderous sky, and seeking shelter, and letting all your plans go when you find the path washed away by a flood. But I spent the afternoon in a storm myself, and am too tired now for metaphor.

I was also going to write something which gave you information, because they say the busiest weblog posts are the ones with "how to" in the title, and I know that's true. But I am too tired to care now about statistics. If you want to know about how to safely travel a storm, you'll need to find some rain for yourself. I'm off in a minute to make a mug of hot chocolate.

The instinct of the storyteller is to write everything down : to use the storm, and the cold, for purposes leading to a poem, a sentence, a novel. I feel odd when I experience something only once - the living of it, without the writing down of it. I am restless for days, even years, until I have the moment set in words.

But I know too that a storyteller must understand the letting go. Not everything needs to be told. Some nights, hot chocolate is more important.


2 comments:

  1. "not everything needs to be told"

    oh yes. i often stop myself from telling because of this truth

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  2. Sorry, the spammers are quite problematic right now. I'm trying to avoid installing captcha codes by disabling comments on the posts they target. But soon I might have to bring back captcha for a little while.

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