Category Archives: Storytelling

Calm

As he was pulled backward, I saw my chance.  Even through my half-swollen eyes.

I fired off two right punches, as hard as I could, and they found their mark on his left jaw.  The look on his face turned from anger to full-blown rage as I turned and bolted down the stairs . . .

***

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My Campfire – The Fire Within

I don’t remember where I heard this expression.  Or perhaps I never did.  It may have sprung into the recesses of my mind.  From a dream.  A whisper from the wind.  An echo from the stars.  But I use it sparingly.  With depth of heart.  For it holds several meanings to me.

“You’re always welcome at my campfire.”

***

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Compulsion to Flee – Part 3 – Modernity and Hermitism?

I’ve been writing about that urge to roam.  To travel freely.  Unencumbered.  To experience the world through the lens of constant motion.

My first post in this series introduced the terms “Dromomania” and “Drapetomania,” which placed this desire squarely in the medical model for disease.  The word “disease” itself has been defined as: “a condition of the living animal or plant body, or of one of its parts, that impairs normal functioning and is typically manifested by distinguishing signs and symptoms” that is “not simply a direct result of physical injury.”  A disease has also been said to be “a particular quality, habit, or disposition regarded as adversely affecting a person or group of people.”*

And there are four main types of disease: infectious, deficiency, hereditary, and physiological diseases. Diseases can be communicable or non-communicable, and when we have absolutely no idea what causes one, we call it “idiopathic.”

And let’s not forget mental or psychogenic diseases.

In fact, the suffix “mania,” in dromomania and drapetomania, arguably places the old terminology squarely in that category of mental illness.

So, is the compulsion to flee, to explore, to wander the world, a mental disorder?  And what are those so-afflicted fleeing from?

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Compulsion to Flee – Part 2 – Conversion or Reversion?

Picking up where I left off yesterday . . .

We’ve all heard the stories of Cortez conquering the Aztecs and Pizzaro conquering the Incas, but we often only hear the stories of those who are regarded as conquerors.  The victors.  Even if their acts were entirely atrocious and inhumane.

History is distorted that way.

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Compulsion to Flee

I often write about my travels and the things I experience while traveling.  The adventure of it. 😊  Particularly getting back to Nature and hiking in the wilderness.  Something I do whenever possible.  And the urge to travel, or to continue traveling once on the road, is always at the surface.

Lingering, like a Tiger ready to pounce on its prey.

Frankly, I like that feeling.  For it drives me to drive.  Gives me reason and purpose.  An impetus to greet Grandfather Sun each day.

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My Mom Had Guts!

International Women’s Day was yesterday.  To honor it last year, I made a post about my daughter.  Today, I’ll honor my mother.

My mom grew up on a farm in southern Michigan.  The closest “big town” was Sylvania, Ohio.  As soon as she could, she left the farm and found work in Toledo.  While there, she also sold War Bonds  for WWII and was a “War Bond Captain.”

But this wasn’t exciting enough for her.

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Open Range – Revisited

Intro:  I wrote this story back in 1993, describing some of my time on the road between 1978 and 1980.  I had packed up and bugged out after a little run-in with the law.

Something sparked the memory, and I dug out a copy of the publication it appeared in at the time – “Out Your Backdoor.”

I found it fun to look back at my writing style then.  Not that much different from today.

I was trying to break into freelance writing and looking for small publications that would pick up an article – payment was usually a couple copies of the newsletter, magazine, or journal, or whatever print media it might have been.

With a few minor edits, here it be . . .

*****

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When Mountains Dance on Tiny Feet

I left you all at a juncture in my story “The Club 66.”  So, it’s time to circle back a little.  If you don’t remember, check out the last couple of paragraphs.

Disclaimer:  I don’t recommend that anyone participate in such a ceremony without proper guidance, intent, and knowledge.  Also, since we are all individuals, creatures with complex chemical-electrical systems, there is no way to predict how ingestion of any substance might affect someone.  To either their benefit or detriment.

Nor can I offer any guidance in how to interpret such an experience.  Words fall far short.

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The Conman

I had finished a couple of beers and an appetizer with a friend at a local pub.  Nice neighborhood.  Quiet part of town.

While he had to leave, the night was still young, and I decided to mosey on over to the bar and have another round before I hit the trail.

I generally like meeting new people at the bar, and I’ve met some fine ones and had wonderful conversations.  Trading stories.  Slices of life.  Different paths in different timelines converge for a bit.

A smiling between souls.

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The Heart of Storytelling

I read a post a couple of days ago stating that the difference between humans and other animals was the ability of humans to tell stories.  And that this ability is what has led to discoveries, inventions (good and bad), art, poetry, war, etc.

Of course, I believe other species have their own way of telling stories. 🙂

Stories have been said to create a special niche where we love to reside.  Fictional worlds that fill our minds, the majority of the time for some of us, with a central plot-line of underlying “conflict.”  There are generally dark forces to overcome, battles to be won or lost, struggles that define the protagonists, to whom we relate ourselves.

It is us that mirrors back as being the heroine or hero.  Whether defeated or exalted.

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