I may as well be in OZ on Vocal

Does my frozen pond have to be a literal one. Can I be figurative and satirical in my chosen rendition of a story. Can my long thaw and becoming free of the pond be characterized as acceptance of my written words.

I am writing my stories on Vocal and I suddenly feel that I am floating up, up and away.

I want to shout "we're not in reality anymore". We are just floating in the land of words. Our stories are winged tomes aimlessly vying for recognition and likes and loves and hearts and acceptance.

I'm really going to need my velvet slippers to go chasing my stories and have them sit long enough in the vast wilderness of Vocal Oz to be read and appreciated.

If the stories are lucky and an arm reaches out and snatches them in the updraught or updraft, and they are recognized as 'top stories', well, lucky you.

They have an opportunity to be read and be a visual reminder that you did a 'good job' using your words and your diction.

Otherwise, they are forever petrified in the 'FROZEN POND OF LOST STORIES', and remain there for the duration of their sad and lonely life.

I am, therefore, hoping that after a long winter in hibernation, a miracle will somehow occur and rescue these poor lonely stories from perdition and give them wings to fly.

Wait, isn't this story a mirror image of my life. Am I not lost in translation in this lonely pond of life.

I am the 'Frozen Pond'.

Forever I am waiting for that long thaw to terminate itself and emancipate me from this vicious cycle of nothingness into light and clarity.

Alas, the vocal stories and I are intertwined in our journey to find our specific relevance in the grand scheme and design of things.

We need to be winners, my stories and I, and your story and you, and you and you too. But, try as we might, we still seem to be stuck in the frozen pond fighting to be victorious with every story that is dreamt up by our active, inactive or tortured imagination.

Yes. They say there will always be greater and lesser persons than oneself, but who cares about being lesser, we all want to be the greatest.

It appears one has to take the time to learn how to not be everyday basic, boring, trivial and downright uninteresting. One needs to learn from others.

But, am I not being encouraged to find my own voice?, create from my own perspective, chart my own writing style, and choose my own methods and avenues through which to impart them.

Why then try to emulate others? It is a dilemma. It requires some pondering.

I write the words of the heart

I write the words of the sky

I write the words of life

I write the words of the loved

I commiserate with the thoughts of the suffering

I bond with like minds

I imagine beyond the stars

I soared above the clouds

I bay at the moon

I growl at the wicked

I push back at evil

I reach out in kindness

I strive to be kind to animals

Still searching for the fountain of exhalation

Around and around I go.

Still the pond sits frozen, taunting me, goading me, daring me to keep dancing and gliding and composing.

"Pour your heart out in your own way," it whispers.

Protocol be damned.

You do you.

Be the catcher in the story.

My summer is on the horizon, the thaw will come to the pond, I will don my velvet slippers and follow the yellow brick road to my destination over the rainbow.

"Win or lose, this is my game to play. Right or wrong. I'll play it my way, and if I make mistakes, it's my own heart that breaks. I only have one life to live, and I'm gonna live it." (Phyllis Dillon).