How I got to where I am now

Up to now I have paddled in the art of writing. This splash-deep journey began with scribbled plans for a space adventure – notebooks filled with spider-bursts, maps and names. Then a hop over to picture book ideas. Another hop to short stories where I stayed for a handful of years, splashing about, flashing (in word form), bashing out right-brained sentences, opening up the flow of unsquashed words, unsullied by over-thinking – fat, fully-breathing words (at least, measured so by my own standards).

From this I have written a handful of all right stories – without the wise protection of a pseudonym in these beginning stages, I am eternally stuck to my wanderings. Perhaps this is the thing. I have yet to make a serious attempt. It is easier to muck about at the edges and do OK. Much harder to give your all, to lay yourself bare, and still come out as not bad.

The stories posted and linked to here are part of the all righters. They are a notch a little way up in the wood and I sure as hell hope I can grow taller. Who knows – but it’s worth a try. And here’s another good ol’ bash on the symbol: You regret the things you didn’t do, more than the things you did…

Catching Butterflies

imageCatching butterflies is like trying to tap into the illusive seam of a good story. The resonance of an idea is felt, chased. There one moment, then lifted away on the breeze. You watch it settle – ah! Resting on a flower-head – and you’re there. Finger hovering over the camera button, holding your breath, ready to capture the beautiful unfolding of wings.

Flitter-flit, and it’s gone.

Here I am, yet again, hovering over the world of Ruchbah Starr, trying to find the way in, to unfold the wings (and not procrastinate with the photographing of butterflies…)