I published another short work of fiction a couple weeks ago. I wasn’t sure I wanted to publicize it on Cool San Diego Sights, but I read the story again this morning and I still sort of like it. So here goes…
Ghost Wind is the title. It’s about life. Your life, my life, everybody’s life. How invisible wind fills our sails. Read it here.
While I’m at it, here are two more that I also published not too long ago. You can find them all on my website Short Stories by Richard.
Would you like to read two very short stories about Christmas?
Both works of fiction might touch your heart.
The first short story is titled A Wise Man. It concerns how we all can become jaded over the years, and how one seemingly ordinary moment can renew our appreciation of life’s preciousness and beauty. Read it here.
Creating a work of art presents the artist with a dilemma. How does one know the artwork is finished?
Suppose you’re a painter. You add brushstroke after brushstroke to your canvas, continually changing it. You alter a line here, blend a color there, add touches of light or dark, then stand back every so often for another critical examination. Which brushstroke makes your painting exactly right?
There is almost infinite potential in a canvas, brush and paint. But a painter must decide when to stop.
Does the artist finally stop because their creation “feels” right?
Does the artist finally surrender? Does creativity meet a wall? Can the artist proceed no farther?
Human imagination is limitless.
Yes, your painting at this stage is beautiful. But why do you decide to now place it in a frame and say it’s done?
I just finished writing a short story about this artistic dilemma. And about other mysterious things. It’s titled The Wheel.
The main character in this small story is a potter.
Will I ever make changes to this work of fiction? Who knows?
I finished writing another short story. This once has the simple title Twinkle.
Once upon a time I studied physics in college. Back then I learned that the elements composing you and I and the entire world were forged in the furnaces of stars. (Mostly, that is.)
A month or so ago I was out on one of my walks, moving through a poorer neighborhood, when I saw flowering weeds in the bare dirt of a front yard. And the seed for a philosophical story entered my mind.
The short story that finally grew and matured you can read here.