No Reason

I walked this morning too. Now I’m writing. Let’s see how this goes.

I haven’t even got poor Jamie out of the car yet. I haven’t brought up the murderously cold wind, the trudge across a tilled field, or the discovery in the barn.

Maybe that’s because I don’t know what’s in the barn or beyond the barn in any substantial way. I’m more like all those artists painting a small person facing a titanic valley or sprawling desert than I like to admit. Little me; big unknown.

Thus far I’ve imagined this as a portal fantasy. Jamie or Wendell back when there wasn’t a girlfriend in the story discovers her grandmother’s portal machine in a barn in France. Grandma is gone and somehow Jamie or Wendell deduce she went through the portal and needs saving. No reason to go get the cops. No reason to grab a bite to eat first, nab a first-aid kit, or a bottle of water. No reason to freak out for days wondering what happened or what to do–if anything at all. And no reason to think Grandma didn’t just step out to get a scone and neglected to leave a Post-it on the monitor.

Which means I need a myterious note, email, or communiqué. Ooo, or a dream or a feeling or a sense!

The Last Ten Minutes

I’ve written but not yet(?) posted Friday and Saturday

And I most definitely wrote today. Just not here. I handcrafted brainy structured sentences for some evaluation effort I’m a part of at work. I’m going to let that cover me for the bulk of today, but I wanted to cleanse my palatte with something lighter.

…but then I accidentally surfed away the last ten minutes.

A quick review of yesterday’s work shows me that structurally I’m heading in an undesirable direction because I’ve not provided any reason for the reader to continue reading. I seem to be doing some character development in a flashback with an unpresent character instead of teasing the reader forward.

I have to get the snow off the glass and Jamie looking out across that snowy French field to Wendell’s grandmother’s workshop and dimensional portal towering over the countryside.

Shit. Just writing that outloud made me want to read more. Something to stew over night here I think.


Two years ago yesterday I stopped writing on 1000 Days. During most of those twenty-four months I didn’t miss the effort, but I did frequently miss the output. I’m back to writing here and will be posting daily. Or I might be writing daily and posting regularly–no reason to expose you to everything this time.

I didn’t have a plan when I started 1000 Days–at least not a plan more sophisticated than writing for 1000 days. I don’t even have that much of a plan this time around. I think I’ll stretch my fingers on the keyboard a bit and see where I can take that.

Two interruptions later…

Jamie Shaver sat crossways on the passenger’s side of an old Peugot 205 with one foot in the empty driver’s seat, another on the gearbox, and her elbow hooked over her headrest. She watched feathers of snow melt on the back window. The heater kept ahead…for now. How much longer did Wendell expect her to wait?

She tucked her attention down into a tablet and swiped through the circle of pages. The home page went by three times. Should she clean up the photo and camera app page or go find her girlfriend?


A buffet of wind rocked the plain white car with a spatter of ice-grit.