A run-on sentence about writing anything until you write Something

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So it seems to be more complicated than, “OK, I’m going to sit down and write something now,” because your brain goes, “I don’t know what to write,” and you say, “write anything except nothing,” and the next thing you know, you’ve doodled the word “SOMETHING” in big block letters with googly eyes and duck faces all around it and maybe a little shading around the edges of the letters, and then you write about the weather, how it’s cloudy out and you sure wish the sun would shine and that it would cool off or warm up (depending on what time of year it is), and you keep on moving your fingers to spill words onto the page, sometimes for pages and pages of incoherent nothingness, and what do you know all of a sudden you’re in the Arctic searching for a lost shipwreck, and just as you’re giving up hope the sun comes out from behind a cloud and there’s the wreck just where you expected it to be, but suddenly the villain is standing in your way aiming to snatch your victory away, or maybe you’re a young child racing across a field of wildflowers with not a care in the world except to get your mom’s batch of cookies over to the neighbors, when all of a sudden you realize the neighbor won’t know if you’re bringing a dozen cookies or 10 and they sure smell good.

But if you don’t move your fingers and you don’t write nonsense until it starts to make sense and tell a story, well then, I hope you have a nice day even though you didn’t write anything. I’m just here to tell you that nothing is nothing and nonsense is something, and something is better than nothing almost every time. And if you’re hoping that maybe this is the time that nothing is better than something (I did say almost), well, yes, and maybe this is the time you win a million bucks in the lottery, too.

Allen the Alien, Chapter 6

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And now Allen was alone with Ellie.

“You spoke of needing something to be done,” Allen said. “What is this ‘necessary’ thing you want the federation to do?”

“We’re all just so tired of all the fighting and bickering on our planet,” said Ellie. “We need to unite under one gentle and benevolent leader, and I was wondering how you all could play a role in that.”

“Do you have a particular gentle and benevolent leader in mind?”

Ellie’s wide smile grew even wider. “Why, me, of course.”

“I understand,” said Allen. “Well, I just told you that we don’t believe in bosses and we let each member planet go its own way.”

“Oh, I don’t want to boss anyone around,” Ellie said. “I just want to end all the divisiveness and make peace.”

“That will be up to you and your people,” Allen said. “As I said, we don’t typically interfere in each other’s business.”

Ellie was still smiling with her face, but her eyes seemed to grow darker. 

“I see,” said she. “Well, I guess that’s how it has to be.”

“Correct,” said Allen.

TriSight and Count Duckula returned.

“The boy is safe,” said TriSight.

“As he always would have been even without a babysitter,” said Count Duckula, who seemed a little irritated.

“Oh, I was hoping you boys would get to know each other along the way,” Ellie said.

Duckula and TriSight looked at each other and something was exchanged without words.

“We do understand each other better than we did before,” TriSight said.

“Splendid!” Ellie said, and her smile grew even wider — but Allen thought her eyes grew even darker. “Well, we will leave you to it, then. Thank you, Emissary Allen, for your graciousness.”

“I am in your service,” said Allen.

“Apparently not,” Ellie said, but then she shook her head. “I apologize, this has been a wonderful visit and truly historic. We have much to learn from you magnificent aliens.”

They watched Ellie and the count walk away for a while, and then TriSight raised all three eyebrows. “What was that all about?”

“It appears Tommy’s advice was sound. We have much to discuss with Fearless Leader,” Allen said. “But first, tell me why you said you understand each other better than you did before.”

“Ah, yes,” said TriSight. “We had a very enlightening conversation.”

Home

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I have a loveseat that faces my stereo set with its turntable and CD deck, in front of the windows that face the road and the highway up the hill. In the predawn darkness, the traffic from here to there and back is a series of white and red and yellow lights racing north and south. Everyone outside the window is on a mission to get somewhere.

They will probably reach their destinations, but there are no guarantees. The lack of a guarantee is motivation enough to push on toward the destination through any storm and any reluctance or resistance.

Here behind the glass, I set my imagination free.

I see a fairy tale setting, a house in the woods that could be built of gingerbread, or is it a rainy city alley with a rodent in my face — and why am I close enough to the ground that I am face-to-face with a rat? — or am I flying over the clouds (must be a storm down there), on my way to the next adventure, or do I fly so often that I don’t even bother to look out the window while I bathe in resentment that I am not somewhere else, anywhere except this steel, coffin-like tube?

Is that a common theme rolling across the fruited plain — disappointment that we are not somewhere else or someone else? In wishing for another place or another identity, do we miss the magic in the here and now? 

I write with a grateful heart with my right hand while a golden retriever licks my left hand and settles in beside me. I contemplate the restlessness in the land while rubbing a gentle dog’s shoulders. Why would I want to be somewhere else or someone else?

And there, perhaps, is the root of the restlessness: We want to be home, not flitting about from destination to destination. In the midst of every wild adventure is a yearning to be home with a golden retriever’s nose on our knee.

That’s why there are so many songs about going home and hymns about coming home after our trials are done. Home is shelter where our loved ones wait. We want to see the world and have adventures, but then we want to come home or find a home. The search for home — the instinct to make a home — is a powerful one.