Val Muller

The Electronic Wordsmith

Like many parents, I have been scouring the Internet for ideas to keep kids entertained while still providing some educational value. We have made cardboard boats, bead people (a throwback to my childhood), necklaces, drawings; we have gardened, weeded, cared for the lawn…

But perhaps my favorite activity so far was inspired by several posts I saw pop up on social media in which a (very professional) artist took findings from nature, such as wild grass, flowers, etc., and created landscapes and other artwork.

So, with the weather entering that “perfect” space between spring and summer, I took the kids on a nature walk with the goal of finding things with interesting shapes and textures. I hoped to kill maybe ten minutes with the endeavor. But they loved it. They each walked around with a bucket, gathering way more than I knew we could use.

In fact, they were disappointed to have to come inside, asking if we could search for more.

But when we finally did come inside (as a settle down activity prior to lunch), both kids had fun arranging items onto the paper. And because they didn’t want any help, I was able to create my own pieces.

I took a picture right away—just in case (you never know, with preschoolers). But I told myself I would come back later, to take another picture after all the glue dried (some of it was glued down, other was simply sitting on the page).

When I finally remembered to come back the next day, several of the pieces I used were wilted already, and I realize that the picture I took the day before was the best I would have. But I wasn’t upset about that at all. It reinforced the lesson of the activity. The activity was about the journey, about finding the zen in taking a walk, looking closely at nature for colors and textures that might otherwise be overlooked.

And indeed it was. I (honestly) couldn’t care less about the actual artwork the almost-two-year-old created on the paper. But I will remember that when I handed him a glue stick, he thought it was chap-stick. I will remember that my daughter said she was making a dragonfly, but it turned out to be a Picasso-type thing, with tiny wings and giant eyes, and all the parts scattered around the paper.

And in a situation like a lockdown, where it seems we’re biding time and waiting for some unforeseen and uncertain goal, it seems that appreciating life for its journey is the best thing we can focus on. I am posting this week’s “Fantastic Friday” on a Saturday night—and that’s just how “quarantine” life is going. Days blend together, with work’s boundaries blurring into personal life and vice versa. And that’s okay. Everyone will read it on Saturday night instead of Friday, or maybe on Monday instead of today. But maybe someone will like the idea, and take their kids on a nature walk to create a similar project, and maybe through this late Friday post, someone else, somewhere, sometime, will discover a journey of their own.

Welcome to The Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write a “never have/had I ever” story.

This week’s contribution comes from Cathy MacKenzie. Cathy’s novel, WOLVES DON’T KNOCK, a psychological drama, is available from her locally or on Amazon. MISTER WOLFE, the sequel, coming soon! As well as MY BROTHER, THE WOLF, the last of the series.

***

“Our ‘New Normal’” by Cathy MacKenzie

Never had I ever
Expected to break my wrist—
Or any bone—
Is this the beginning of the end?

Perhaps it was, for:

Never had I ever
Heard such terms:
Physical-distancing, flattening the curve…
What the heck!

Never had I ever
Thought self-isolation would be cruel
And unusual punishment,
For no wrong of mine!

Never had I ever
Imagined imprisonment at home
Other than once-a-week outings for essentials,
Though it’s safer staying home!

Never had I ever
Thought I’d be afraid to grocery shop
Or enter another store—even step outdoors,
But the money I’m saving!

Never had I ever
Imagined I’d be yelled at
For walking down an aisle,
What are those floor arrows?

Never had I ever
Imagined ER treatment like a leper
Because of my postal code,
Isn’t that discrimination?

Never had I ever
Thought I’d be forced to don a mask
Other than on Halloween,
But it hides my wrinkles!

Never had I ever
Thought hugs and family gatherings
Would be forbidden,
The technological alternative does not cut it!

Never had I ever…
Thought the world would change as it has.
Never had I imagined a virus would—or could—
Shut down the world.
Oh, 2020, what have you done?
The year isn’t half over and
The news is too grim to watch
And Nova Scotia mourns and mourns…
Covid-19 deaths of too many elderly,
Canada’s worst mass shooting of twenty-three,
Six dead in a military helicopter crash.
On our porches we left boots for Dylan
And lights to guide him home,
A wee bit of hope that soon died.

So many “never-had-I-evers”…

Alas, the world has changed
And not for the better,
But when our “normal” returns
Perhaps people
Will change to better the world.
We can only hope and pray.
But I have my doubts.

***

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.ca/

 

 

Today, I have the honor to host a new author–and a former student!–J. R. Lesperance, whose debut novel Cardinal Virtue has just been released.

A beloved schoolteacher, her gruesome death, and a series of cryptic symbols left behind by the killer are just the beginning…

Cardinal VirtuePolice legacy Lara Nadeau never thought she would find herself anywhere but her beloved Boston. However, after the death of her father and one too many missteps on the job, she is transferred to Eastfall: a small, charming city near Salem. Wracked with grief and haunted by a hostage situation gone horribly wrong, Lara spirals into a toxic mire of anxiety, depression, and substance abuse. She hoped the slow pace of small town policing might be a calm retreat to help set her back on the straight and narrow. Unfortunately, not long after her arrival to idyllic Eastfall, a brutal, ritualistic murder of a beloved educator sends the community reeling. To make matters worse, the prime suspect is the police chief’s son, Police Sergeant Zachariah Braddock. Charming and handsome, Zach has a few demons of his own, but is he capable of such atrocities?

 

Lara’s only wish is to return to Boston and prove she is not her past mistakes, but one death was only the beginning. A sequence of peculiar murders of local women, a house with a mind of its own, and the return of an old flame, threatens to derail her. If Lara can’t overcome her own personal demons to help find the killer in time, her chances of clearing her name and saving her own life, will be dead in the water.

Tell us about yourself:

Hi there! I’m J.R. Lesperance, more commonly known as Jenn. I have recently launched my debut novel CARDINAL VIRTUE through Amazon, available in ebook and paperback formats. I live in Hampton Roads, Virginia, and am a proud fur-mom of one dog and one cat! I am also strangely addicted to crossword puzzles.

Tell us about your book:

Probably the best way to describe it is this: a police procedural with paranormal elements. It is the first book in a planned series centered around a fictional city in Massachusetts, somewhere near Salem. Expect witches and other manner of supernatural delights, and perhaps most importantly, badass heroines getting stuff done!

Did you always know you wanted to be a writer?

Writing has always been simply a hobby. I wrote round robin like stories with my friends in middle school, and wrote little stories in my spare time. When I hit high school, I jumped at the chance to take creative writing with the best teacher ever! Thanks, Mrs. Eg– er, Val. That’s so weird to me… anyway, the best teacher that put up with my crap in English class too, when I always asked why Emily Dickinson’s poems HAD to have meaning.

When I got to college, I learned about National Novel Writing Month aka NaNoWriMo. Every November I set out to write 50k words. I won my first year! And have won a few years ever since. But now that I’m a teacher, it’s hard to juggle writing and the duties of the beginning of the school year.

Up until maybe a few years ago, writing still seemed a hobby to me. Then my best friend just decided one day that she wanted to take her hobby to the next level. I saw her happiness and success, and I thought “why not me too?” And here we are!

What is your “day job”?

I am a secondary Social Studies teacher at a high school in Hampton Roads teaching World History and World Geography. I also work part time at a local municipal visitor center, advising people on things to do in the Tidewater area of Virginia.

Are any elements of your book autobiographical or inspired by elements of your life?

The main character of my novel, Lara Nadeau, is of French-Canadian ancestry. There are little tidbits I included throughout the book involving some family traditions. I pulled these from my own family traditions, as I am of 100% French-Canadian ancestry myself. Throughout the book as well, Lara struggles with the unexpected passing of her father, who had been the only parent she’d grown up with. When I was a freshman in college, I lost my father unexpectedly too. I harnessed some of those visceral feelings of my own and thrust them on Lara.

A lot of characters are a mish-mash of people in my life! But I think that’s a pretty common thing for writers to do.

What book or author has been most inspirational for you, and why?

Oddly enough, I think a lot of inspiration comes from J.R. Ward, the author of the Black Dagger Brotherhood series. I’ve been reading these books since junior year of high school (I actually might have started reading them in the middle of class at times, sorry Val), and she still puts out one new book a year. They’re truly gotten me through some tough times. Not only did she put a totally different spin on vampire lore, but her writing style was something that I’ve always vibed with. I got the chance to meet her last summer at the Romance Writers of America national conference in NYC, got a picture with her and everything, and I FREAKED the whole time. Not only is she a great writer, but she’s SUCH a nice person in real life. I aspire to be like her, if I’m honest. And maybe, possibly, I subconsciously chose my pen name to include J.R. as an ode to her, however, they are the first initials of my first and middle name so… it works regardless.

Are you working on any other projects at the moment?

Yes! I am currently in the works on Book 2, featuring a character you meet briefly in Book 1. It has a whole new vibe than the first: a generous helping of history, a dash of romance, and another female character realizing her worth.

Finally, where can we find you?

Pretty much everywhere!

Website: jrlesperance.com

Facebook: facebook.com/jrlwriter13

Twitter: twitter.com/jrlesperance13

Instagram: instagram.com/jrlesperance

Goodreads: goodreads.com/jrlesperance

When I was pregnant, I could not write. I was overwhelmed with worry so that visual art became my creative outlet. I took up sketching, then drawing, something I’d done years before, but never professionally.

I find that when times are stressful, I enjoy the simple beauty of art, the fact that it transcends words, and really, the intentional time and effort it takes to create. It reaches me on a level different than writing—my go-to stories or poetry.

A friend stopped by the house yesterday to drop off (in a socially distant way) toys she had bought for my kids. My daughter picked a small bouquet of buttercups for her, and my friend texted that the small gesture of my daughter handing over flowers (albeit into a covered hand) brought a much-needed smile to her face and was a nice reminder of her own childhood.

So for today’s Fantastic Friday, instead of words, I will share some photography I took during my time outdoors this week. This week for me, it was about enjoying the little things.

I hope everyone is finding little things to enjoy. Sometimes the little things are the ones that bring us the most joy.

The May 2020 flower moon. I finally learned how to photograph the moon; I just need a bigger lens!

bee in tree

A bee investigates a flowering tree.

dandelion after the rain

A dandelion after the rain.

Sometimes the smallest things bring the biggest smile.

full moon

Found on camera: March 2020’s full moon.

Not sure what this flowering bush is, but my daughter loves how it looks like snow.

I almost wanted to use photo editing to tone down the color of these flowers. They really are that blinding!

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is “never have/had I ever.” Today’s writing comes to us from Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers kidlit mystery series. Find out more at www.corgicapers.com.

The dandelion, pictured below, served as inspiration for this poem.

Carpe Diem

By Val Muller

 

dandelion after the rain

A dandelion after the rain.

Never had I ever thought

I’d wait for bread in line

Or that a Meatless Monday

Would happen in my time.

 

Never had I ever thought

I’d stare at empty shelves,

Or panic when I coughed a bit

Or gasped for breath if I yelled.

 

Never had I ever thought

I’d live to see the day

When the 1918 pandemic

Came back again this way.

 

Never had I ever thought

The schools would shut their doors,

That I’d wash my hands ‘til raw

After a dangerous visit to a store.

 

Never had I ever thought

I’d be shuttered in my home,

To work from screen and keyboard

And to communicate—alone.

 

Never in my busy life

Had I ever banked on this:

That time, my short commodity,

Was now given as a gift.

 

Never had I ever seen

Dandelions graced by the rain

While tiptoeing through chilly dew:

It was like childhood again,

 

That timeless sense of wonder,

The lack of any rush,

To watch raindrops melt off flowers

In the early morning’s hush.

 

Never I, since growing up,

Felt wonder flow so free

As when this time afforded me to sit

While the trees whispered in the breeze,

Or when I watched a honey bee

Floating through the trees.

And while the world slows down a while

In fear of this disease,

And stresses about washing hands

And worrying when we sneeze,

We’re forced to wait—actionless—

While Fates do what they please:

The beauty’s there for those who’ll see,

Who can take the day—and seize!

 

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

 

I’m a day late posting this. The idea for this blog post has been bouncing around in my head for over a week, but like many of you, I spent so much time in front of the computer for work/communication that I just needed a break!

Living through these times has been making me think often of my grandmother. She lived through the Great Depression and WWII, so she had some experience with times of shortages and stress.

One of the memories that has stayed with me happened during Christmas one year. She told me that there were years when she and her siblings were lucky to have an orange for Christmas, and they would savor it and make it last. I thought that was absurd. An orange was a thing your parents forced you to eat before you could eat something tasty like a cookie or candy. What kind of a present was that? It sounded more like getting coal in your stocking than getting a present!

She also kept food in her refrigerator that was beyond the expiration date. She would smell cheese and milk before serving it, which prompted us to look at the date (why would you have to smell cheese or milk you had just bought?) But I grew up in a time of plenty and have been lucky enough not to have to understand shortages. If something passed its expiration date by more than a day or two, there was no need to keep it.

The worst thing I probably had to live through was a blizzard, which forced us to be cut off from the grocery store for a few days, and a power outage after a hurricane that forced us to live out of a cooler for two weeks.

But now, when going out can be dangerous in theory, and when supplies at stores are no longer guaranteed, I am having to think carefully about what I am using and why. I made homemade applesauce because some apples were reaching that point of less-than-ideal crispness that in my past life would have prompted me to compost them. The applesauce was delicious.

I saved plastic containers because they would make a good place for my kids to mix paint. I made my own iced tea. These things were ridiculously easy, and it was only the constant rush of life “before” that prompted me to toss the apples, recycle the containers, and purchase iced tea.

I tackled several sewing-mending projects that I had put off due to my busy schedule. I repaired a hole in my favorite pair of fluffy socks.

Not only am I making better use of my things, but my daughter is as well. Knowing that we don’t visit the store every few days, she has started looking after her things more carefully. She has a renewed interest in repairing her toys, and we have been creating lots of crafts. She even has plans to start her own YouTube channel.

I wonder now how my grandmother felt when there were times of abundance—during Thanksgiving or Christmas, when seconds and thirds were passed around the table, when candy and snacks were aplenty. I wonder if her living through a depression and a time of war rations was the reason (other than being Italian ) she always, always wanted to feed us, why she always had snacks in her bag.

I’m reminded of the novel Life of Pi, which I am reading with my distance-learning high schoolers, in which Pi as an adult and survivor of a shipwreck, is sure to keep his home well-stocked with food.

There was always something welcoming about my grandmother, something about her giving spirit, that made me feel like I was living in a different era when I was with her. I could never quite place my finger on it, on her protectiveness, on her desire to provide. But perhaps now I understand her in a way I never could have anticipated. Perhaps in her mind, when she was offering us candy or feeding us, she was seeing all the things we never had to know and was thankful that she could help us live in abundance.

Of course these strange times have negatives, as a few minutes watching or reading any news makes us painfully aware. But there are underlying positives as well. Like Transcendentalists, we are forced now to live more intentionally. Many of us are forced to slow down, to think deliberately about communication and to appreciate the contact we miss.

But I can say that no matter what happens after this, I am permanently changed by these times. I will no longer throw something away simply because it has passed an expiration date by a day or two. I will no longer take things for granted, and I will always wonder if there is a way to fix something rather than throw it away.

In short, I’ll be living much more like my grandmother.

*  *  *

posing with a Nick Maley print

Here I am, posing with my “quarantine look” and holding the print I purchased in St. Maarten, signed by Nick Maley himself.

While we’re talking about these strange times, I wanted to promote an online event I’ll be attending tomorrow, Sunday, May 3. It’s a fundraiser put on by Nick Maley, aka “That Yoda Guy,” and a bunch of famous people who were involved in Star Wars, The Dark Crystal, Mandalorian, and lots more.

When I met him Maley on a vacation in St. Maarten, I felt something special about him. He is one of those people you meet just a few times in life—very encouraging, calm, compassionate. He is known as “that Yoda Guy,” and is largely responsible for designing Yoda. He had a teacher that once told him he would not succeed in the arts, and after he did succeed, he decided to encourage others, especially youth, that they can follow their star.

The museum he runs in St. Maarten is rated among the island’s top attractions and includes movie memorabilia and many other displays. It was the highlight of my trip (yes, a trip that included tropical drinks and snorkeling!) and what I remember most about the island. And although he worked in film, he is independent and certainly marching to the beat of his own drum.

But with all the shut-downs, the museum and its foundation is left without its income—the tourists who visit the island. His goal is to survive the estimated ten months it will take to get tourists back.

Anyway, this fundraiser is the first of many. It’s an online convention with many guest creatives who have worked in film and other creative endeavors. They’re putting on an 8-hour convention that costs only $6 to join remotely. I can’t wait to attend. If you’d like a ticket, you can find one at http://netdwellers.com/mz/inet_events/starnet_pay.html.

Hopefully the money raised through these events will help Maley keep afloat until things turn back to normal. Sometimes it takes just one person to turn a life around, and based on the comments to his posts, Nick Maley has touched so many already. I imagine if he’s able to keep his museum open, he’ll be able to touch many more.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write about a chance encounter.

This week story comes from Chiara. Chiara is currently quarantined in Berlin, Germany, and doing her best to catch up with semi-abandoned writing projects.

Midnight with Shakespeare

by Chiara De Giorgi

Ever since I watched “Midnight in Paris” I’ve been fantasizing about meeting the object of my own devotion, the greatest poet of all times: William Shakespeare. Impossible, you say? Maybe so, but a girl can dream.

This is the story of how my dream came (sort of) true. More accurately: this is the story of how my dream within a dream came true, to say it with Mr. Edgar Allan Poe.

I woke up on a sunny morning and entered the kitchen, yawning like a hippopotamus.

“Good morning to you, fair and gracious daughter[1]”, said my father, handing me a cup of black tea.

I smiled and accepted the kindly offered beverage. I sighed. I really needed it, I had a day full of work meetings ahead, and no desire to attend any of them.

As I left home, headed towards the bus stop, my neighbour waved at me. “Nothing will come of nothing[2]!” she shouted, an encouraging smile on her face.

Still wondering about her words, I later entered the building where my first meeting was going to take place. I was about half an hour early, so I asked the secretary where I could go get some coffee.

“Better three hours too soon than a minute too late[3]”, she said. “Just turn round the corner, there’s a bagel seller whose bagels are the absolute best, and the coffee is also good!”

I happily followed her advice: I love bagels! I found the place, a small take-away shop, bright and clean, and I put in my order for a bagel with strawberry cream, and a coffee. The guy behind the counter licked a spoon of cream clean before setting it aside and serving me. I must have looked astonished, because he smirked and winked at me. “Tis an ill cook that cannot lick his own fingers[4]”, he whispered.

Holding my bagel and my coffee I made my way back to the meeting, which lasted almost three hours and left me drained. A long discussion had brought to no end result, except I had to prepare another report, with more figures and nonsense.

“The fault lies not within the stars, but in ourselves, that we are underlings[5]”, said my colleague, in an unusual spout of wisdom.

“Yeah”, I sighed. “An underling I may be, and yet I must rush to the next meeting! Adieu!

I decided to take a cab, so I could rest a bit. I must have dozed off, because suddenly I realized we were stuck in traffic. I was going to be late. Not cool.

“What’s the matter?” I asked the cab driver. “Can’t we go a bit faster?”

I saw the man shrug, then he looked at me in the rear-view mirror and said: “Come what come may, time and the hour runs through the roughest day[6].”

Oh, well. He was right, after all. There was nothing I could do. I called a colleague and let her know I was running a bit late, then checked my Smartphone to pass the time.

Finally the cab dropped me in front of the building where the second meeting of the day was taking place. At the entrance I almost tripped over a cleaning lady, who was on her knees, furiously rubbing the floor.

“Out, damned spot! Out, I say![7]” she was muttering. Such an odd day, that was, and I had not seen the last of it, yet!

I knocked at the meeting room’s door and entered, making my apologies, then reached my seat and sat down, opened my files on the tablet and prepared to discuss the subject at hand. The discussion lead to a nasty disagreement with one of the guys from another Company, which left me irritated. As I was putting all my stuff back inside my bag, wishing my work day was over, someone hit me.

I heard a voice near me: “Gosh, I’m sorry. Let me help you pick everything up.”

Of course the most embarrassing items in my bag had fallen out: my comb full of hair, a picture of my cats, a handful of tampons, a Mickey Mouse pencil. I lifted my eyes to see who it was, and of course he was the guy I had quarreled with just minutes before. He handed me my things, then he held out his hand. “We haven’t started on the right foot, have we? Let me introduce myself.”

We shook hands. He was smiling warmly at me and I found myself smiling back at him.

“So, do you have time for coffee?” he asked me.

I checked the watch. “I have about twenty minutes, then I must go attend another meeting”, I replied. “Are you sure you want to have coffee together? We almost ate each other less than ten minutes ago in this very room!”

He took my hand again and put a gentle kiss on it – he did, I kid you not.

“My dear”, he added, as if it were the most natural thing to say at that point, “Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps[8].”

I’ll be honest, here: the rest of the day passed in a blur, I don’t remember much. When I got home, I was exhausted and collapsed on my bed, instantly falling asleep. When I opened my eyes, the alarm-clock on my night-stand read 00:00. Midnight.

Around me all was dark and silent, then I heard a whisper. No, it was many whispers, coming from different directions, overlapping, confused. At last, I recognized some words: “If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumbered here While these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding but a dream, Gentles, do not reprehend: If you pardon, we will mend[9]…”

Around me, tiny fairy lights were dancing in the dark, I could smell jasmine, and I could hear the sound of jingle bells… I laughed, long and happy.

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

 

 

 

[1] Measure for Measure, Act 4 Scene 3

[2] King Lear, Act 1 Scene 1

[3] The Merry Wives of Windsor, Act 2 Scene 2

[4] Romeo and Juliet, Act 4 Scene 2

[5] Julius Casear, Act 1 Scene 3

[6] Macbeth, Act 1 Scene 3

[7] Macbeth, Act 5 Scene 1

[8] Much Ado About Nothing, Act 3 Scene 2

[9] A Midsummer Night’s Dream, Act 5, Scene 1

Has anyone else been having trouble keeping up with days during these quarantined times? I’m juggling my full-time job with full-time childcare and all my other duties and neglected to post this story by Phil Yeats, which he sent well before April 23 🙂 I hope everyone is staying happy and safe.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write about a chance encounter. Today’s post is written by Phil Yeats. Phil (using his Alan Kemister pen name) has published two soft-boiled police detective stories in his Barrettsport Mysteries series. They’re set in an imaginary Nova Scotia coastal community with very quirky citizens. The Amazon link for the more recent one is: https://www.amazon.com/Tilting-Windmills-Barrettsport-Mysteries-Book-ebook/dp/B07L5WR948/

Today’s submission is an alternative take on an earlier SW submission. It might become the opening scene for a sequel to his current WiP – The Road to Environmental Armageddon. He’s trying to invoke late Middle Ages or Renaissance vibe, but story is actually set in a post-Apocalyptic future.

The Panhandler (take two)

by Phil Yeats

Benjamin trudged home in the waning sunlight after delivering a parcel containing four flintlock pistols and a supply of gunpowder to the southwestern gatehouse. He entered the town square from Southwest Road and turned onto the busy Western Road, heading for Little West Lane. His home was near the end of the lane, within sight of the town wall.

He hadn’t feared for his safety as he strode along the busier thoroughfares. The purse of coins he’d received in exchange for the pistols was tucked into a secure compartment within his leather tunic. It suddenly felt heavier as he approached the narrow lane with many nooks and crannies where thieves could lurk.

Thoughts of the weapons at his disposal distracted him as he approached his corner. He barely noticed the scruffy young panhandler sitting on the cobblestones suckling a fractious infant. She was wearing rags, her hair was crudely shorn, and she looked like she hadn’t washed in weeks—a perfect incubator for fleas and lice. When he dropped a penny in her pot, the baby reached for his fingers. The tiny hand and abandoned breast distracted him. He lingered for a moment too long.

“Benji?” she said as he tried to leave.

She handed him her baby and paused before covering her breasts. He diverted his gaze as he took the surprisingly clean tyke and tried to determine who she was. Was she from home, the nearby village where he grew up? If not, she wouldn’t know the childish nickname his mother dumped on him. No one but his friend Thaddaeus used it. Solving the little puzzle wasn’t difficult. She was Leah, Thady’s little sister.

She would have been twelve when he left home six years earlier to study at Caverns Technical College. He crouched beside her, leaving a gap he hoped fleas couldn’t leap and let her inquisitive tyke tug the wisps of hair representing his pathetic efforts to grow a beard.

“Are you okay?” he asked when she began gathering her meagre possessions. “Somewhere to go? Someone looking out for you?”

She dumped the coins from her pot into her hand, counted them, and slid them inside her smock. She stood while pulling the drawstring closed and adjusting the shoulder straps of her kirtle. After hoisting an ancient rucksack onto her shoulder, she reached for her child. “Completely alone and nowhere to go. I’ll find a street vendor willing to sell me a bowl of gruel, then…”

He stood without relinquishing the tyke. “I have bread and makings for stew, enough for two.” He paused glancing up the lane. “And a tub for a bath. You could get cleaned up and…” He stopped, unable to complete the sentence.

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/

Okay, so I meant to publish this last Friday, but as each day blends into the next, I didn’t realize it was Friday until…Saturday. So I figured I’d delay until today.

With much of the world shutting down, I have not yet had a chance to be bored. My young kids are with me 24/7, and I am still working full time, albeit from home. So, although I am spending more time playing with kids, hanging out with them outdoors, biking with them, etc., I have less leisure time, since I have to use all my “down time” to do my job. In fact, I’m getting less sleep than I was.

However.

That is not the case for everyone, and I have enjoyed seeing the way the world is opening up to help us all feel a bit more connected.

Even with less “leisure” time, I have been spending more time being creative–drawing with my daughter, building custom Easter crates (in lieu of forgetting to shop for Easter baskets), building a leprechaun trap out of sticks from the back yard. They are not life-changing inventions, but they are creative and will certainly be memorable for my kids.

It has gotten me thinking about the benefits of boredom. Boredom is the seed of so many innovations. Issac Newton was “bored” during a similar shutdown (plague) and made great strides in discovering gravity and calculus. As a writer, I’ve read and heard so much advice about the importance of being bored. It is from boredom that creativity grows.

I thought I’d share some of the resources I have encountered in the past few weeks of fellow humans using “boredom” (or “free time”) in beneficial ways.

 

There’s so much out there, it makes me feel hope, even as we read terrible news stories. People are still thinking of each other, still reaching out to one another, still trying to make the world a better place.

So make the best of boredom. It’s not often in our lives that we can.

Welcome to the Spot Writers. This month’s prompt is to write about a chance encounter. Today’s tale comes to you (a day late) from (the very frazzled) Val Muller, author of the Corgi Capers mystery series, who is currently teaching full time from home, while also writing, and watching her young kids, and corgis.

In Need

By Val Muller

They. Just. Needed. To. Nap.

Why was that so much to ask? An hour or two a day or silence, without unending questions from a preschooler, without a million consecutive “no’s” from a toddler. Social distancing requirements said nothing about taking a drive, and that’s just what she did.

Why was the universe punishing her for it?

The car ride had been amazing at first. The two of them conked out in about twelve minutes, and Hannah sped through the country roads, enjoying the spring foliage and rolling farms. She cracked her window to let the fresh air wash over her, when suddenly the car was overwrought with stench.

Was it the baby? Had he soiled himself?

Or was it manure from the farm nearby?

There was no way to tell. She slowed a bit and opened the back windows, just enough to let the car air out. They’d be past this particular farm in about thirty seconds, so if it was manure, it would wash out of the car. If it was the baby, well…

The rushing wind did not wake the kids, and she drove a bit longer with the windows open. It was nice. Refreshing. Symbolic. Washing all the stress of the international closures, the pandemic, away. Nature had that habit—of making everything seem fine, normal.

Except that nature had a sense of humor, too. The wind curled the corner of the sleeping child’s favorite blanket and picked it up with just enough force that it overcame her gentle clasp and sent it sailing, like a kite, out the window.

Hellen slowed, but of course—of course—there were two cars behind her. She could not slow or stop on such a narrow road. The two of them saw the blanket fly out—they had to have—but they did not stop. The driver of the sedan directly behind her wore a mask and kept the windows up. The woman—at least Hellen thought it was a woman, wrapped up in gear like that—simply shook her head and kept driving. The truck behind the sedan slowed for a moment, as if pondering what to do, but ultimately decided to plod on.

Normally a blanket is just a blanket, but this particular blanket was a custom job, a quilt made of scraps of Halloween blankets, the girl’s favorite holiday. What’s more, it had her name embroidered using scraps from the household, and each one now had a unique meaning and a unique physical feel for the child. She often lulled herself to sleep running her fingers over the familiar stitching.

To say she would be devastated was an understatement.

There were no side roads and no driveways. Hellen kept going, wondering when she could slow or turn around, and where the blanket would be by that time. Finally, she came to a side road. It was dirt, and narrow, and rutted. Her minivan would never be able to turn around on it. Forget a three-point turn; she would be lucky to complete one in twenty.

So she simply stopped, put her flashers on, and gazed down the road as an unbelievably high number of cars rushed by on both sides. Wasn’t this a deserted road? In the middle of a pandemic? The road she had pulled down was situated at the top of a hill along a blind curve. Backing onto the road would be an invitation for an accident. How was she supposed to turn around?

Her only hope would be to drive down the rutted road and hope for a better place to turn. But how far down this rabbit hole was she willing to go? She glanced in the rearview mirror and imagined telling her daughter about the blanket.

It would not go well. She got out of the car and craned her neck down the road, hoping for a miracle. Couldn’t a gust of wind bring the blanket back to her?

Even if she were able to turn around, there was no telling where the blanket had gone. She hadn’t seen it land.

“Please!” she screamed.

Almost in answer, a deep hoooonk startled her.

Along the main road, a huge truck was coming to a stop. A man in a hat got out and waved. He was not wearing a mask.

“Need help? Broken down? Flat tire?”

Hellen shook her head. “Worse. My daughter’s blanket flew out the window, and when she wakes up, things are never gonna be the same.”

The man’s concerned face cracked into a smile. “Hold on.”

He hurried to his truck and returned, the blanket in his hand.

“This literally hit my windshield while I was driving. I was able to grab it before it flew away. I don’t know why I kept it in my cab. Something told me to.”

Hellen shook her head. “Even with the threat of the virus?”

He nodded.

She took the blanket and hurriedly reached back to cover her daughter. By the time she was finished, the truck driver was already in his cab, waving at her to back up onto the road. She got in the minivan and backed out, heading towards home. She waved a quick goodbye before realizing she never got to thank him, never got to know his name. But he was already gone, down the other side of the narrow road, followed by a line of cars, on his way to deliver more needed goods to more people in need.

The Spot Writers—Our Members:

Val Muller: https://valmuller.com/blog/

Catherine A. MacKenzie: https://writingwicket.wordpress.com/wicker-chitter/

Phil Yeats: https://alankemisterauthor.wordpress.com

Chiara De Giorgi: https://chiaradegiorgi.blogspot.com/