I grew up in a small town and in 1959, when I was about 7, I happened into a cigar store with my mother. A Cigar Store was the precursor to the mini-mart. There were wire racks holding stacks of pulp fiction - westerns, romance and, of course, science fiction. I became enchanted with one that had a space station on the cover and space ships firing laser blasters at each other. I had to have it. Beseeching my mother was not enough so, after unrewarded pleading, I stole it! I have been reading science fiction ever since. There have been great periods where I took the genre very seriously. At 13, I began with Jules Verne and worked my way to the present lingering in the golden era of John Campbell and the like. Asimov, Clarke, Silverburg, Anderson and the list goes on and on. What a wonderful journey. Your writing and your story is as good as any of theirs. I have nothing critical to add which means I have failed in my editorial duties but am delighted to have read something this good. More please!
Many years later I had a chance encounter with Ray Bradbury in a small park in West Los Angles where we spoke for an hour or so. I professed my love for science/speculative fiction and his in particular. I further admitted that I had always wanted to be a writer. This is what he said: "Son, if you want to be a writer then let me tell you, it is easy. Just write one thousand words a day, every day, and I promise you that within your first year you will write at least two pieces, maybe more, that are publishable and sellable. The next year that number will increase. And there you go."
So...there are readers out here like me that will wait for more from you. Thank you and keep up the good work.
Talkingbear
A wise old woman, ad editor once knew, after reading something I'd sent her wrote back to me and said, "Don't tell me, show me!" I think about that every time my fingers get near the keyboard. So...show me exactly why cruel-sweet summer and taunting-gentle spring is not you. Why? How come? What is this burden? Me thinks that there is a whole mine shaft full of pain in this but I am left to only imagine what that is. Could be done with just one carefully placed word. Now, having said all that, I love your poem. It is clean and clear and as simple as flowing water.
The editors tell me that it is a good thing to review the work of others. Helps them, helps, you and you might make a contact or two along the way. Good advice. So I start out each monring reading the efforts of others. Some of the submissions are so bad that I shy away from them. What could I poissibly offer them that would do them any good? Some are trite and written with as much creativity as the TV Guide. Some contain little nuggets of ideas that I snatch up and take with me. Occasionally, there is poem or a short story that glitters like the same morning sunshine you describe. And then...every so often, there is a story where the whole of it is just greater than all its parts. A story that grabs your attention to the point where you forget to analize it. You don't notice the grammar and syntax. You don't even think about sentence structure. Tension, plot movement. climax, doens't even enter your mind because the story sweeps you away to where, in your journey through it, you almost can't wait to read the ending. Subconsciously, you just know that there is a wonderful little reward, maybe something heartfelt or poignant waiting for you.
Its funny how all "the little things" add up to something good and inspirational. When I finished reading "The Little Things" I got this feeling like I wanted to say thanks. Thanks for adding something sweet and delightful to my morning. Almost like leaving a good tip for the waitress not just for the great service but for a certain silent kindness.
Wonderful story. A little gem. A little flower growing up through the concrete of my sidewalk.
If this is the kind of work you do, don't stop. We all need more of this.
Thanks...oh, and let me get out my wallet here,..I really oughta leave a little something extra....
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