Storytelling

My stories tend to run long, but the solution to posting them came to me last week. Serial fiction!! Hey, they do it in magazines and newspapers, so why not do it on a blog? 

Some years ago, I participated in writing a rotating story. That’s when a bunch of people get together, someone begins a story, then hands it to the next person, who writes a scene, then hands it to the next person, who writes the next scene and hands it to the next person who writes ... you get the idea. It was great fun and a little frustrating because three of the four were serious and the fourth was, meh, not so much. It died an early death, the group broke up, and I wish I’d kept the manuscript because I could have done something with it myself. 

The concept stayed with me, though, and a few years later as an exercise, I started writing my own rotating story. How does one person write a rotating story? I committed to writing a new scene every day with no idea where the story was going. It was just an exercise, and as occurs with most of my exercise plans, I quit after a few weeks. But this time, I kept the manuscript. 

Flash forward to January 2012. A friend introduces me to the music of Matthew Schoening and the rotating story bursts back into consciousness. I quickly finished it ... and starting this Saturday, in weekly installments, I will post it here. 

By the time it’s over, I hope another one will be ready to go ...

In Walked the Moon

in walked the moon

first you were a face

a rapture of skin and bone

artful and artless

cast in luminescent glow

then you were a smile

a blissful contemplation

of the innocence in whimsy

and the joy in guileless play

when you told me your name

the mystery unfurled

you revealed yourself a jester

on a journey of your own

you became a muse

a spirit to inspire

mystic dancer poised on tiptoe

between wax and wane

 

one day you’ll be a memory

your stars no more aligned with mine

but each night you’ll be with me

for you have become the moon

 

March 1, 2011

© Ruth R.Greig

I believe in what I call “light beings”—spirits so pure and powerful in their natural state that they shine bright white. I even know a few. Ter is one. Nicole is another. The only other one I’ve met inspired this poem, and since today is his birthday, I thought I’d share it.

He didn’t stay long, but his brief presence in my life initiated such dramatic change that I can’t help but be grateful for him. In his purest form, he’s a light being. He is also mortal and following his own path. He proved to me that the orbits of two vastly different worlds can occasionally cross, and when they do, magic happens. He taught me the value of play (and how sad is it that I needed teaching??) He introduced me to the music of Matthew Schoening and reintroduced me to my muse. He was mysterious and sweet and lovely and frustrating and funny and delightful and scary smart about many things. He dropped in and out so fast that he might never have happened except that I remember him whenever I see the moon.

Happy birthday, Joelique.

 

With love,