Mindful: Attentive, Aware, Conscious, Thoughtful, Alert.
Miscellany: A collection of various items, parts, or ingredients, especially one composed of diverse literary works.
Welcome to A Mindful Miscellany, where we focus on sense-making and story-telling in the turbulent twenties. We are devoted to cultivating the conditions for sagacity to emerge, like Punxsutawney Phil, from her hidden lair. No guarantee that it will happen, but we are over the moon when it does. I humbly serve as your blundering yet intrepid wayfinder, touching the elephant of reality in most unseemly ways. Bio here.
I entered this NYC Midnight microfiction (<250 words) contest a few months ago. It was fun to stretch myself, work on a different type of story. The contest randomly gives you a genre (Drama), an action (Requesting a Donation), and a word to include in the story (Pleasant). I enjoyed the chance to work on this, and the 48 hour time constraint. It seems counter-intuitive, but constraints cultivate creativity (There’s the alliteration I live for, with the trinity bonus!). With only 250 words, you have to be both innovative and thrifty. Each word must carry their load. It’s not “For sale, baby shoes, never worn,” the legendary Taylor Swift short story, but it’s still tough.1
In the first round over 4,400 writers participated, broken into 105 groups— around 43 writers per group. The top ten in each advanced to the next round. I came in 4th in my group, so I get to move on. Let me know what you think!
Overheard in line at a coffee shop.
“I know, it’s nice to hear your voice too, Russell. It’s been a while.”
“Yes, the wake was the last time. Two years. I’m okay. All things considered.”
“Keeping busy. How are Laura and the boys?”
“No, no, I still have the book. It was a pleasant diversion, for a little while.”
“I miss him, too. It’s all I think about, some days. I sit up in the middle of the night, wondering if I could have done anything different. He was so dead set on going on that trip. One more time into the breach, right? Stubborn bastard.”
“Sometimes I see your posts on Instagram and I think it’s him because you, well, because you’re twins. But it’s not him, you know? It always feels like someone is carving my insides out with a dull spoon.”
“No, no, I’m okay. I’m okay. Talking about it helps sometimes. I feel better when I’m done with a little cry. Like I’m all wrung out. The reason I’m calling is….”
“I’m not getting any younger and I’m ready to be a mother. Better late than never, right?”
“Have you, have you, given any thought to my, you know, to my request? I realize it’s a little…. unorthodox. But it would be a way for us to honor Eddie. Together.”
“What? She didn’t—there is no way Laura said she was okay with that.”
“She said what?”
“Huh.”
“Fine. If that’s the only way that you’ll do it. How’s next Thursday?”
Have a great week out there— Run your race.
In fact, Taylor Swift did not write that story. Attributed to Hemingway, but that’s not 100%.