A couple weeks ago, in what can best be described as a fit of automatic writing, I scrawled the following into my notebook:
and you see that old man, and you hear the voice like Robertson Davies circa
Manticore or What’s Bred in the Bone (books you don’t remember, you only remember the voice like a bony finger pointed at you) or like the old guy on the cover of an those Kansas albums, telling you to carry on, like you weren’t going to anyway, and just what the fuck was he going to do about it, and who the fuck did he think he was to grant you permission to do anything?
I’ve been trying to find some vehicle in which to fit this, but nothing I’m writing now has any space for it. But I like it too much to just throw it away, so I figured I’d give it to you, my loyal readers, to do with as you please. Tell me how this ends, or how it begins.
But don’t keep it to yourself: let’s see what you can do. Post it here via the contact form below. I’ve called it a contest, but there are no prizes and I have no interest in declaring a winner. All I want to do is find a good home for my orphaned blurb. Call it a writing prompt, if you prefer. Be creative with it, wow me, and most importantly, have fun!