May 25 2015

Another Nothing Monday…

There’s nothing today on the Tale once again. This does seem to be going on far too much of late, but sometimes real life just conspires to see to it that you just can’t think, or feel, the story that you’d like to tell.

The stories will return, in time, I’ll get there…




Skip to comment form

  1. avatar

    So true. You just take care of you.

  2. avatar

    No worries! Sometimes you feel a great story that needs to be told, sometimes you feel 8 hours of work and an hour long commute. Get as much rest as you need.

  3. avatar

    Once upon a time, there was a kind, gracious, raven-haired storyteller. She lived her life fully, vividly, giving of herself for her beloved, for her family, for those she considered family . . . and she had a way of making family out of everyone she met. Her stories were also full, vivid, and giving, in the way that those who heard and read them were transported into other worlds, and they came out richer.

    Week after week, she told new stories for the sheer joy of it all—sometimes it was more often, because the stories would simply come tumbling out of her. There were times, when she was feeling ill, when many people in her life needed her, when someone she was counting on let her down, that the stories didn’t come so well; she didn’t write out of joy then, but out of duty: people expected the weekly story. But then, when the nightmare came, chasing all of the stories out of her, she finally stopped entirely.

    The storyteller was sure she had let everybody down, all those who looked forward to her stories every week, all those who looked forward to them, those she helped and sustained and loved and enriched. She knew that she was letting them all down, but there was nothing that she could do; she was empty, exhausted, sure the stories were done.

    But then, something entirely unexpected happened. All of those for whom the raven-haired storyteller had given of herself began, with their thoughts, their wishes, their prayers, to hold the storyteller close. None of them thought she was letting anyone down. None of them believed she could. They all knew better. They re-read and re-told the earlier stories, to themselves and to one another. The worlds she had created were re-woven, rebuilt, and began to seek out their creator. In time, as overpowering as the nightmares were, her stories, her love made into prose and ideas, shared through all of those with whom she had shared, washed them away.

    She needed her rest, but, in time, there were stories again. Once upon a time . . .

  4. avatar

    :: simply smiles and huggles ::

  5. avatar

    Trying promise…


  6. avatar


    Thank you my heart… Truly I promise to remember…


Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *

You may use these HTML tags and attributes: <a href="" title=""> <abbr title=""> <acronym title=""> <b> <blockquote cite=""> <cite> <code> <del datetime=""> <em> <i> <q cite=""> <s> <strike> <strong>