Was “Lucie” Here?

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I’m okay this morning. No volcanos yesterday. No hanging from cliffs for dear life. No gorges – although there were some smaller “ravines”. Yesterday, there were just Tenerife views like these:

A view of La Gomera island. [Photo by me, 2016.]
A view of La Gomera island. [Photo by me, 2016.]

Walking signage. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Walking signage. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Wheelbarrow on a trail edge. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Wheelbarrow on a trail edge. [Photo by me, 2016.]
"Lucie" was here? Or was someone longing to see "Lucie"? We'll never know. [Photo by me, 2016.]
“Lucie” was here? Or was someone longing to see “Lucie”? We’ll never know. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Largely deserted village, high above the tourist-dominated coastline. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Largely deserted village, high above the tourist-dominated coastline. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Ocean view. [Photo by me, 2016.]
Ocean view. [Photo by me, 2016.]

Incidentally, I stumbled on this tweet last night. Seeing it, I found myself thinking, “This was some groundbreaking thought?” Actually, to my mind, it’s nowhere near on target. In fact, my only axiom I’d share as a writer is this: Writers should avoid sharing axioms like this:

Screen capture of Twitter.
Screen capture of Twitter.

Because to note that, obviously she’d never encountered my (now late) uncle:

Excerpt from "Passports," on the iPad app for Kindle. Click to expand.
Excerpt from “Passports,” on the iPad app for Kindle. Click to expand.

And how many others like him have been, and are, out there. To write, true, you do have to sit down and actually shut yourself away and WORK. But unless you are dealing directly with the public in a face to face occupation, authoring is hardly different than so many others.

Indeed, writing can be very much a “face-to-face” occupation too. For example, last night in a restaurant, I went completely blank: For the life of me, I couldn’t recall how to say “76” in Spanish. Actually, specifically I couldn’t remember how to say “70.” I could only think of the French.

“Setenta y seis,” our server laughed as she gently reminded me.

Darn it! I knew that, of course! I laughed too….partly because I was also trying to play down how I felt briefly like a bl-ody nitwit. (Seรฑora would have been so disappointed in me.)

A gazillion life incidents like those: I file them away. Maybe I’ll use that someday.

How you write as a “recluse” is beyond me. After all, from where did you get your material? From staring up at the ceiling during all of your waking hours, rarely venturing outside?

You have to stumble through ravines. You have to discover a “Lucie.” You have to find yourself perhaps slightly embarrassed in front of your Spanish restaurant server. ๐Ÿ™‚

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