Going Nuts: Reflections on "A Story Every Day" So Far (February Edition)

I'm not a religious person. I've never described myself as "spiritual". Maybe it's a bit odd, then, that a quote I especially like mentions a Goddess.

The Goddess does not shower her gifts on those who reject them.

- The Mists of Avalon, M.Z. Bradley

This is what keeps coming back to me. Every day that goes by I am a little bit more invested in this writing every day streak. Any and every idea, or even anything that smells like the shape of a seed of an idea... I seize it like it's water and I'm dying of thirst. (Kidding. That would be Tea.) Or I'm an addict and it's my next hit. (Again: tea.)

My reward for these efforts is that the Goddess, whoever she is ("the universe", if you like. My subconscious, probably...) keeps showering me with them. Pelting me, some days. I store each of them, like a meticulous squirrel (one of the red ones).

This stirs a memory for me, so I'll write it down, because that's what I do. That's my life now. Scribble everything down, hoard every scrap.

Here it comes

I was quite small. Probably six or seven. We were on holiday at a caravan site in France. Red squirrels everywhere. Not exactly tame, but not very scared of people either. One of them lobbed seeds from a pine cone at Dad's back, chittering angrily the whole time. He was apparently a bit p!ssed off that Dad was too close to his tree for too long. The longer Dad stood there picking up the seeds around the tree, the madder the critter got, and the more he threw.

Maybe I have a hard time believing in Goddesses, but a ticked off squirrel is right up my alley. Lobbing story seeds at my head, and here's me, going slightly off my nut, picking them up. The more I pick up, the more he throws. Who knows, by December, I might be drowning in an ocean of them.

The Nuts (ha) & Bolts

• We are sixty days in
• I've posted a short story every day this year so far
• Some of them follow on from each other, but my own personal rule is as long as they can also be enjoyed as a stand alone story, then it counts.
• On top of that, I've also posted some challenge entries, including slightly longer stories and some wanky poems. Writing really does beget writing!
• I've sailed past the 200 story mark without commemorating it. Oops?
• My word count for February: 14,820
• I got 1k+ reads again in February (less important, but nice to know I'm not shrieking into an abyss).
• This brings my total read count over 8k

This Month I 'Ave Mostly Bin Writin'

By the time the Year of the Dragon rolled around, I was getting a bit jaded with dragons. I revisited my ongoing fascination with merfolk instead (Won't Cost You a Penny).

I rekindled my penchant for doing it doggy style (Pet Therapy, Doctor Vellichor's Medicine).

I've drawn inspiration from real life (The Little Robot, The Woman in the Window, Joy at the Top of the Hill).

How Am I Finding It?

I am enjoying it! A lot! I cannot recommend daily practise highly enough.

Reflection

Possibly because of the continuing winter gloom, early February saw me still writing about depressing sh!t. I have a sunny disposition, I swear!

Loss has been a recurring topic, which I will cheerfully blame on the Misplaced Challenge.

I also touched on Fear (see The Bedroom Monster, The Snowman). Grief (Joy at the Top of the Hill, Snow Angel). Death. Maiming. You know, all the usual cheery stuff.

The closest I skated to love and romance was a brief bit of wistful longing and what might have been (Deliver Us From Evil), plus jealousy, control, pain, and abuse (These Green Eyes Don't Cry).

Mothers has been a repeating theme. Mothers abandoning their young (The Mother), or having them taken away (Stretching Poor). Mums "fussed" twice over small boys keeping their heads warm, stayed calm in a crisis, kept promises, made sacrifices.

What's Next?

My birthday approaches. I might have a challenge centred around that. Spring is almost here, so I'm going to put my feet on the grass and turn my face to the sun, and see if I can't write something more hopeful tomorrow.

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Thank you for reading

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