Tuesday, May 28, 2013

A Loss For Words?

A quick note or the beginning of a new story?  Is the pad blank due to writer's block?  Are you an investigative reporter or just doing research?  Maybe this is about to be come a sketch book.  Write a little Flashy Fiction involving the quaint, old-fashioned pencil and pad as a key piece of the story.



    She held her ledgers closely, as if protecting their contents from prying eyes. But how can history stay hidden? She wanted the world to learn what life had been before the conflagration. But she had forgotten one important fact. A far as she knew, she was the only survivor.

    They had called her "Historian". That was a name that carried great import. And since the Great Truth Purge, the restructionist history was punishable by death. Little did that matter now, but the Historian held ethics in high regard.

    She had a sudden pain in her head, a stirring of thought in the guise of a memory. It needed to be recorded. She went to the case mounted on the wall. Sliding the glass panel to the left she exposed the object of her office. It was a primitive instrument unearthed in the battle. She held it in as much reverence as the ledger clutched to her chest. She had found mention of it in the earliest pages. It was referred to as a "pencil".

    She handled it gingerly; the tip of the nib was fragile. She knew that once it had deteriorated beyond usefulness, all history would cease. She was frugal with her words. She was not ready to die.

    1. Love it, Walt! When the "Revolution" happens and all power is gone, pencil and paper will be what we're back to for recording history.

    by P. Wanken

    It would be so easy to just log on to a computer and let my fingers dance across the keyboard, or pick up a phone and leave a message. It would be faster—and less painful as the deed is done more quickly (ok, maybe less painful just for me).

    But that is not as it’s meant to be.

    Before me: paper and pencil. Yes, pencil—not even a ballpoint pen that will let ink flow until I’m finished. No, it’s a pencil. I’ll have to let the thoughts in my head percolate while I periodically take time out to sharpen it; and even though my pencil has an eraser, the act of writing by hand affords me the time to process and choose my words carefully—to decide on just the right way to convey my message. (Hmm…I wonder if he knew what he was doing when he gave me the paper and pencil.)

    Staring at the blank page, I know I have (short of any 11th hour changes) only a few hours in which to write my message and I face one problem: how does one fully convey remorse and ask for forgiveness? I know God has forgiven me and I’ve reached a place of peace—how do I begin to help a grieving family find that same peace?

    God help me.

  3. How, indeed, Paula!? Good stuff.