Magical Realism, Writing, Fiction, Politics, Haiku, Books

martes, noviembre 01, 2005

Sitting On The Dock Of The Bay

This is my chair. I sit in it and look for stories. When I look into the sea in front of me, I see the stories. Some of the stories are in ancient languages that nobody now recognizes, let alone speaks. Some look like beer pretzels. Some are just fragments. Some are so wonderful that I involuntarily say, "Ahh," when I examine them. Those are the ones I want to harvest, bring up onto the beach, and harvest. It's not a secret that this is how I find my stories. And it's not a secret that the sea is brimming with them. All you have to do is look.

Sometimes I think finding the stories in the sea is a lot like The Polar Express. You have to believe in the stories to see them.