Stories I Haven’t Told Yet.

Juliette Harvey and her Dieselman Band. I don’t know where these things come from. Sometimes I think they’re jotted into my brain by a real writer who is using me as a note pad. Or maybe I’m a crazy machine learning how to tell stories from minimum inputs. Could be I’m the psychotic break of a dad that is beset by story requests from a pernicious pre-schooler.

So. Juliette and her Diselpunk band of metal men. I have a vague idea of a story to be told about slavery and freedom and artificial intelligence. Something I can steal from the stories of bluesmen and jazz musicians and twist into a science fiction story to hide the fact that I’m a privileged white guy in the midwest that wouldn’t know oppression if it smacked me with a rubber hose. I’ll get there.

Frank, Iowa beckons too. There’s a story about Elvis Lions the patriarch grocer and his ongoing conflict with the Coffee Farmers. How do I approach that without being so heavy handed with my depiction of the conservative Coffee Farmers as to make them caricatures and straw men? Should I even care? Elvis has been stalking me for months as I’ve been writing about Frank and searched for a male equivalent to Mary Trudeau, the dowager matriarch of Frank. I know Elvis is that reflection, but how to tell his story, to make him more than just a mirror image of my progressive grand dame? I’ll find a way. Just not today.

The Boogyman’s Daughter fell like a bolt out of Neil Gaiman’s moving truck, but I haven’t found much of a way to expand on it yet. Maybe she’s just a office worker that has settled into the HR department and is atrocious at on boarding because of her creepy inherent nature. Still, it makes for a great title and a great idea. Just imagine the flashbacks to prom.

The Dog That Barked At Dragons has potential in a more fairy tale sort of way. I have a whole line of thought about a little dog from a circus in medieval Germany who belongs to the fireeater. What if a dragon tried to singe the pug and the little dog ate all the fire the dragon could breath at it? That sounds fun. Maybe not the best message to send in a fairy tale though, encouraging people to eat fire. Who knows.

The stories are here. I just don’t have the wherewithal to pound through them. It’s summer. There are better things to do to mark time. Except there aren’t. Hockey is over. TV is over. Video Games are at a lull. I should be writing. And yet I can’t. It’s not a block. The stories are there, all ready for me to tap away at them. I’d just rather watch YouTube and play NHL16.

Well, the Dog That Barks At Dragons will still be there when I’m ready to tell his story. They all will. I’m just taking my time, but I don’t know where.

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