Where Creativity Grows
Follow Casz’s Fiction Farm on WordPress.com Once again this installment of Free-Range Fiction is due to that Pennsly-‘Tuckian Boot in my arse. That boot comes in the form of a writing-prompt challenge regarding setting. Here were the choices: In the middle of a prison riot. Chinatown during a hurricane. In…
As my breathing slowed to something nearing a bus nap, my head was jerked forward, and a spray of iced mocha landed on my head, chest and lap. I looked up and saw the poor schlub whose paper coffee cup was now oscillating between my seat partner’s feet and mine. Sorry, he mouthed and shrugged. The bus driver queued up the p.a. system and apologized for the sudden stop, explaining he had done so in order to avoid a stray dog.
I looked down at my trousers and shook my head, “Curse you, Thursday.”
The best discovery of the book, for me at least, was that Rubin targets in on the fact that doing this created not a security, but the ability to potentially cope with problems. She wrote that it was truly wise to not “…wait for a crisis to remake your life.”
