@tellio tell your daughter thank you for the recommendation for this, shared in your newsletter. youtu.be/xLNeZogTsK8 My fav moment was earlier than yours. There’s a section near 3 min mark where it moves from the soft flow into something more rhythmic. Fascinating look at an artist in motion, tinkering to make sound. It reminds me a bit of a collaboration I did with Luka for Whale’s Lantern.

“A writer’s truest self hides in the same dark terrain where self-doubt and anxiety dwell -- those dread whisperers -- and it’s that self they constantly assail. They are, I think, the original hackers, determined to hijack the codem, to show us who’s boss, to confuse us into thinking the danger comes from without, not from within.”

-- from The Destiny Thief (Essays on Writing, Writers and Life), by Richard Russo, page 23

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Image from page 44 of "Inductive elementary physical science with inexpensive apparatus, and without laboratory equipment" (1897)


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As you get acclimated, I hope you will make regular note of postings to the #SmallStories hashtag (marked with capitals that way to assist screen reading software for the sight-impaired).

Several people are posting well-written short pieces for us all to enjoy.

I hope your fediverse experience is great!

Have fun.
Be Safe.

The slender shape
stops, and stares,
a fox made white
by moonlight and
lamplight, a marble
statue of nature
caught in the act
of exploration, both
by canine and man.
We blink. It's gone,
a soft weave
of unhurried grace,
the dawn shadows
always seem to call
back its own on soft
padded feet.

and combined -- what the dog and I saw this morning when we went for our walk

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Autosave, does it have the power
To overcome accidental delete?
I was typing here over an hour.
Poignant words I can't repeat.

#SmallPoems (response)

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This is a quick reminder that all of the A Whale's Lantern music, made by wonderful Mastodon musicians in random pairs, is available at awhaleslantern.bandcamp.com/

#MusicCollab #music #creativetoots

“But it’s never too late to make a better world.”

-- from It’s Better Than It Looks (Reasons for Optimism in an Age of Fear) by Gregg Easterbrook, page 282

I removed my glasses and the right-side lens dropped out of the frame. Where the screw went, I have no idea. I brought the glasses to a small business I had never used, and the next day, I picked the fixed frames up. "How much do I owe you?" I asked the man, who shrugged and smiled, and replied, "I only put a screw in there. You don't owe me a thing." I reached out, shook his hand with appreciation and told him, "Thank you." Some days just seem to have kindness baked right in.

Where once we crumpled
paper, with discarded
lines and thoughts

Now we hit delete,
and think: recover what
was lost.

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“The dancer dances, the painter dips and lifts and lays on the oils, the composer reaches at least across the octaves. The poet sits. The architect draws and measures, and travels to the quarry to tramp among the gleaming stones. The poet sits, or, if it is a fluid moment, he scribbles some words upon the page.”

-- from Upstream, by Mary Oliver, page 157

My fingers
brush away
the soft pieces of
eraser -- small
crumbs of stories
struggling to remain
within the lines

I Springfield Confidential: Jokes, Secrets, and Outright Lies from a Lifetime Writing for The Simpsons

The writing quality fluctuates, oddly enough (given Mike Reiss role as a funny-man writer and showrunner for the program). But I am enjoying the insider's look at how the show gets written and produced.

“Challenges, some seeming daunting, will come and go. There will be dark days, and days with bright, warm sunshine. There will be periods of hope, and periods of despair. But when the dark days come, you must remember how the sun shone brightly on your face. When despair looms, you must grasp onto hope and lift it high for all to see.”

-- from We Rise, We Resist, We Raise Our Voices, edited by Wade Hudson and Cheyl Willis Hudson, page 3 (foreword)

The frog certainly seemed confused. The night's long rains had brought it out of the mud, no doubt, but now it was sitting smack-dab in the middle of the roadway. It was a large frog, fat with bugs perhaps. I used my toe to gently give it a nudge. Hop. Another nudge. Hop. One more nudge, and the frog was soon over the curb and into grass. Safe from cars and traffic. The dog and I continued our walk homeward, satisfied that a small act had made a difference in the life of a frog.

Some words
never get spoken --
the pencil tip snaps,
broken thoughts on

“That afternoon, I tried to understand if I had made a choice about what to write. But instead it seemed to me if anyone had made a choice, the novel had, choosing me like I was a door and walking through me out into the world.”

-- from How to Write an Autobiographical Novel, by Alexander Chee, page 198

A student noticed a picture of Trump in an article we were reading.
"Why do so many people hate the president so much?"
There are many reasons I could rattle off: racism, immigration, judicial swing, taxes and much more. I have a growing list in my head.
Yet I also have a responsibility to my classroom space. I try to stay neutral when talking politics with young students.
I responded, "Sometimes, people have strong differences," and it immediately felt inadequate for the times.

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