Writing

What is writing?

I catch myself asking that question almost every day now. What prompted this was listening to one of my favorite Podcasts, The Thomas Jefferson Hour. The creator, Clay Jenkinson was interviewed (some would say cross-examined) by his recent guest host, an attorney, about his life in Bismarck North Dakota. They discuss “Writing” with a capital W and a sense of place. This got me thinking.

Am I a writer?

If the definition is, One who is paid to produce works that derive income or royalties, the answer is a resounding no. However, if it's someone who every morning parks his hind-side at a desk and taps away at a keyboard attempting to clarify his thinking, improve written communication skills, synthesize experiences and knowledge, I emphatically say in a sonorous voice, Yes. I leave it up to you, the reader to make your own assessment.

Sense of place?

My attempt to share a “sense of place” is my fictional creation Hercule Peridot. Indeed, the notion is to synthesize my love of gems, share my travel experiences, apply the science of deduction, practice the art of creative writing, and have a little fun in the process.

Scattered stories.

The fictional stories are scattered throughout this blog. So, to help the reader establish some sense of continuity I’ve listed Peridots' adventures so far in chronological order:

The adventure continues. It looks like our heroes are headed for the United Arab Emirates.

. . . stay tuned.

Comments

A Game for the Ages

Game One: Yankees 3 vs. Dodgers 6 - A Game for the Ages 120th World Series – Forty-three years of anticipation culminated in a clash of titans, a World Series showdown between two baseball dynasties. And what a way to kick off this historic series! The stage was set: bottom of the tenth, bases loaded, two outs. The hero? A hobbled Freddie Freeman, his ankle injury a testament to his grit and determination. The pitch soared, a moment suspended in time. Then, a thunderous crack of the bat. The ball arced skyward, a breathtaking flight toward rightfield. A collective gasp, a hush, then a roar. The ball cleared the fence, a grand slam of epic proportions: a walk-off masterpiece, the first in World Series history! As the echoes of the crowd’s jubilation filled the stadium, Vin Scully’s iconic voice rang out in the minds of Dodger fans: “High fly ball into right field, she is gone!” It was a fitting tribute to a moment that defied all expectations. Yankees 3—Dodgers 6. In a year of the unex

Dawn's Embrace

In this episode - Dawn’s Embrace . . . In the quiet hours before dawn breaks, The darkness whispers, and my spirit wakes. For in my hands, tomorrow lies— A chance to reach, to strive, to rise. With steady focus, I find my way, Turning each task into light for the day. Not every path is smooth or clear, Yet I push forward, shedding fear. Life may bring disappointments, it's true. My dreams are mine, and I'll see them through. My attitude is my own to steer, and No One else shapes the hope I hold dear. So I start each morning with a heart alight, Embracing dawn’s gentle, hopeful sight. For love, for dreams, I’ll build and grow, Sharing this warmth with all I know. In each sunrise, I find the key— The dawn of hope that lives in me. . . . Welcome to this week's episode of On The Fly . The previous poem was written the day after the election results. Yes, we’ve made it through another presidential election cycle. Everyone at work was gloomy, angry, frustrated, and could not

The Power of a Thank-You Note

In this episode, The Power of a Thank-You Note . . . Halloween night is a time for spooky fun and neighborhood camaraderie. As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the streets, neighbors emerged from their homes, transforming their driveways into festive candy stations. A familiar face caught my eye as I strolled around the neighborhood, taking in the sights and chitchatting with the neighbors. It was a neighbor I hadn't spoken to in years, a young mother whose daughter had interviewed me for a school project on gemstones and the GIA in 2014. As I approached her, a spark of nostalgia ignited. "So, how old is your daughter now?" I asked, curious about her journey. "She's 23," she replied, a smile spreading across her face. "She's studying architecture now." I was taken aback. "That can't be possible," I exclaimed. "It feels like she interviewed me for her school project just yesterday." Time had s

GridBot & Gramps

In this episode, GridBot and Gramps . . . – Meanwhile, back in Greenwood, Dr. Jon Gellborn, Ph.D., sat at his cluttered desk, the dim glow of his ancient desktop flickering as he pecked at the keyboard. His workspace, a chaotic mix of handwritten notes, old newspapers, and dog-eared magazines, mirrored his frustration. Marvin’s grandfather was a relic of an analog world, though he tried to keep up with the times. For the past week, he’d been baffled as to why Marvin had hurriedly left town, disappearing to the High Sierras without much explanation. “Mary, have you heard from Marvin?” he called out, frowning at his inbox. “He isn’t answering my emails.” From the kitchen, his daughter Mary poked her head around the corner. “Dad, remember? Marvin’s off-grid on that fishing trip. There is no service out there in the mountains. He’ll be back soon.” Dr. Jon sighed, fiddling with his outdated oversized flip phone. “This old PC . . . I can’t get my blog post sent to my friends on Facebook.

On The Fly

Search This Blog