Walk-by Story #1 - Who Stole My Sunsets?

I have several options for my drive home from work, my favorite being some two lane back roads that wind through a little pocket of rural New Jersey, complete with farmland, horse stables, and homes set back from the road surrounded by acres of woodland. It is a pocket that is shrinking; the low speed limit roads are becoming commuter thoroughfares, and on the edge is slowly being eaten up by an epidemic of cavernous warehouses.

Since moving to this area of New Jersey at 11 years of age, these roads have been my go-to place for fantasizing about rural serenity. Long stretches of farmland gave uninterrupted views of sunrises and sunsets and a horizon of shifting colors as trees paraded through the seasons. At one crossroad, a magnificent, 3-story Italianate house, complete with cupola reigned majestically. And while townhouses and shopping malls and fast food drive-throughs sprouted up with more and more frequency, this area was spared. Until now. Until the unrelenting march of development rolled through, the horizon became blocked with huge square, nondescript buildings, and roads became home to tandem tractor-trailers.

Last week, I could tell that an unusually colorful sunset was setting up, just from the color of the sky I glimpsed through the trees as I drove home from work. The sky was cloudy but obviously there was a break somewhere. As I emerged from the wooded area and passed the horse farm, I caught a quick glimpse of the sun, a stark, flaming red ball with defined edges defying the clouds that were trying to hide it. A long, dark finger of storm cloud slowly rose in front of the sun, a perfect dragon silhouetted against the crimson sun. And then, the warehouses rose into view, and the sun was gone. Cars around me prevented any type of slow down- no smelling of the roses for these road warriors. I wondered how many of them had even seen the dragon in the flaming circle.

The light streamed over the top of the warehouse, then began to fade. I knew the clouds were thickening in front of the sun. By the time there was enough sky visible to me the sun, the light, and the dragon were gone. I felt as if something rare and beautiful had been stolen from me.

I remember when I first moved to New Jersey that “old-timers” at the county fair would complain about the development that was happening then. They would point to the street I lived on and tell me that it used to be a potato farm. The county road that bisected the town had been a two lane residential street. And thanks to the giant high school on the hill and the expanded NJ Turnpike overpasses, someone was stealing their sunsets.

It occurs to me that I finally understand what William Gibson said, ”Time moves in one direction, memory in another.” And my sunsets will always be with me.

Infographic - The Importance of Humor at Work

Thanks to www.humorthatworks.com for this graphic.

How Many Stories Have I Walked Past?

I saw this quote by Orson Scott Card, and it made me stop and wonder. Wonder if it was true, wonder if "good writers" really pick up on that many stories in a day, and wonder if I have fallen into the "most people" who don't see any.

I suppose "most people" would qualify as seeing one story — their own. In fact, it is probably their own story that eclipses the rest of the stories happening all around them. A type of tunnel vision, perhaps, that is not always a narcissistic, helicopter parent, micromanaging boss, bad thing. Hyper focus that results in the next breakthrough invention, diplomatic achievement, artistic expression or social reformation. Yet, for each one of those things there comes of time of sharing with others, the literal telling of the story — which apparently, most people miss.

All this wondering has led me to try an experiment, to see how many stories I can actually "see" in a day. For example, I was recently in a gym where many gymnastic classes were going on at the same time. That controlled chaos is a story — how is that managed? Quick observations revealed an overload of stories. In one corner a parent sharply corrects a very young child. "Do it the right way or we are going home," the parent says. In another corner, a lone gymnast repeats the same trick on the parallel bars, over and over.  Personal goal? Competition coming up? And who is that bundle of energy leading the toddlers through a maze of jumping and climbing? Not a complete thought among the observations, but plenty of story sparks. Fiction of all kinds (zombies doing gymnastics?), athletic profiles, gym management articles, advice for parents of young gymnasts, how a balance beam is made — a year's worth of writing in 5 minutes of hyper focus — of living in the moment as a writer.