My first, entitled, none too imaginatively, "A Story in Four Parts", was posted on Halloween, 2006. It centered around an instrument called The Lyre of Discord, a.k.a. the Liar, that each of us is handed sometime after birth. The four strings, when played together, are unbearable. Singly, they are no less painful, but if we listen closely enough and without fear, we can perceive their underlying falsehood, and retune.
In April 2007, I launched into an absurdly ambitious 12-part series called "The Goddess Myths". A friend whom I've never met emailed me after the first installment and questioned my wisdom in pitting a protagonist as flawed as Trudy Gabler against Seven Divine Couples, whose names at that point I did not know. I could only agree and hope that if I were to fall flat on my face, readership would have dwindled and those who remained wouldn't care.
Thankfully, the series, which introduced Twelve Requests, beginning with Romance Me, unfolded without a hitch, and by the end, I felt ready to entertain the core messages:
LIFE IS PEACE. Wake up.
JOY IS TRUE. Everything else is an imposter.
HAPPINESS IS EVERYWHERE. Where are you?
These are taped above my workspace, and I recall with gratitude the message from my friend, twelve weeks later: "Congratulations, you did it!" (I think of you often, Emily, and hope you're doing well!)
The deepest plunge into serial storytelling commenced on July 24, 2007, mere weeks after finishing the Goddess Myths. "Three Greek Tours" began as a state of frustration after decades of teaching Creative Writing. Through jungle, river, desert and mountain scapes, I traversed with three mysterious characters: Periphereia, Ataraktos, and Enantiodromia, each of whom left advice about things like boundaries, false appearances, and time and space management.
Most recently, I penned "Canned Soup" in three installments - the silliest and perhaps the most pointless. It may have been an exercise in word play, which I'm using with great delight in corporate workshops these days. Whatever, "Canned Soup" is here in Lexicon, though I don't dare go visit it.
Which brings me, finally, to the title and apology of this post. A month ago, I wrote a story called "I Wish That People Wood", and when I reached the end, I typed the hopeful words, "to be continued..."
A week passed, then another week. Life ramped; events, good ones all, crowded in; I discovered the bizarre and wondrous world of online discussions. Within these discussions, I came to realize that thousands, perhaps, millions of professionals are posting bravely, week after week, on blog sites around the world, perhaps because they believe they have to.
After five years of off-and-on posting, I know the cost of this belief. What begins as an exhilarating opportunity rife with adventure, the possibilities of self-knowledge and revenue becomes a chore, and over time, something closer to dread. What if I don't post? What if there's some faithful core of readers, dependent on my scraps of weekly confusion and stumbles, on rare occasion, into wit? How can I let them down?
The harlequin mime known as Enantiodromia would do a few back flips over that one. What does one think one is, imagining a core of dependents in a world much wiser than oneself? When the plays in an old theatre consist mostly of replays, it's time to thank the audience, take one final bow and descend from the stage into that real, wise world.
"I Wish that People Wood" will conclude someday, although I don't know when or in what format.
Another event waiting in the wings is the redesign of this website. I may even be ready to Twitter by then. 140 characters, compared to 800 words, sounds glorious!
Until that time, thank you for reading, and merry be.
Posted on: 2010-10-14 11:31:46