The dictionary defined the word, “farther” as referring to physical distance. I wanted to go farther. Bric-a-brac, the horse zodiac painting from a calligraphy class of my birth year and an Ent statue reminiscent of my days coordinating raids in role-playing games as a druid healer, sacrificed to cram twelve volumes of the Oxford English Dictionary and two computers in a little neon blue car. Bric-a-brac fought for space with work tools. The tools won the war. A blog to showcase my writing paved the road out of the Rust Belt town. The blog needed five things.
The blog needed a name. I typed, “literary short fiction” into Google. The common writing term, “scribbler” peppered the search results. The descriptor informed the crowd that the author wrote but not why. The modern hated the common, the crowd. The modern chased the unique, the individual. So, I gave chase. My literary short fiction pieced together the psychological puzzle of the rusting people of the Rust Belt, holding to the promise of a rainbow of grace. I typed, “faded rainbow” into Google and found the term, “moonbow.” The moonbow referred to a night rainbow. It faded. Grace left. For a character, I settled on a fool. I knew him well. Perhaps the fool played the fool to keep his head, but in truth, he challenged the king. Perhaps the fool was nothing but ignorant. The absurd ambiguity intrigued me.
The blog needed an image. I drew a mockup in paint for my collaborating artist to make more palatable for the crowd. The watercolor style represented the fading night rainbow. I clothed the fool in a patchwork of quail colors. His words connected him to Hephaestus, smithing weapons. Words weaponized. Half the crowd claimed a meaningless world. Half the crowd claimed a meaningful world. I challenged the crowd. I challenged myself. I created meaning.
The blog needed editing. I edited my own work. As focused as a mouse on a treat in the lab when asked to perform a trick, I sought perfection in every grammar detail only to shapeshift into an eagle, wings beating high above the structure. Fiction gave me the freedom to play with ideas best. People created. Given the conflict, did they, could they grow or not? Multiple perspectives reigned. The middle-aged mortician found his roots and reconnected to them. The university student broke the tether of his roots to gather information. The mortician grew. The university student didn’t.
The blog needed a layout. New to such a creation, the basic technical aspects proved a struggle. Due to calculus, a 4.0 grade point average in my major and minor of English and history became a 3.5 overall grade point average at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee. Focused, I employed a technique I used when writing, multiple perspectives. I sought out as many sources of information on a technical problem as possible and compared them all. My intuition gave me a workable solution. Trial and error reigned. I published.
The blog needed future content. I planned to add a section on the craft of short fiction. The skills I honed, crafting and editing a story, passed on to others busy puzzling out human psychology. The research and compare technique employed. I chose mentors carefully. I aspired to become a careful mentor.
The dictionary defined the word, “further” as referring to abstract advancement. I needed to go further. I applied to earn a Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing with fiction emphasis at Florida State University. A longer medium, the novel, suited the reason I needed to continue writing but hampered the blog with its desire for short form content. Other avenues of publication proved an important investment of my time. I upheld self-reliance but sought out worthy mentors. Academically focused. Bric-a-brac discarded. Yet, I missed the Ent statue.
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