The bestest

It is so tempting to look for the good stories elsewhere. 

I think the ghost stories and the folk tales all come from another place, another time, another person, when all around me the tales weave themselves alive.

The heroes and the villains walk among us everyday and the music that accompanies them is as great as any John Williams theme if only I stop to hear it.  I just don’t hear the synthesized version, the one played by French horns and violins.  The one whose melody carries the reality is the one Williams heard in his head before it was transferred to those earthly instruments.

I listen for the inspiration.  I look for the reality.  I reach out and gather it up in arms that want to fling it back like flowers from a bouquet…and sometimes I can and sometimes I cannot.

The truest tales come when we work together.  I start a sentence.  You finish it.  You start one and I finish it.  We both are listening and watching and reaching out with every fiber of our being and only then do we find the whole story.

When that happens it becomes a reality and everyone sees and hears and feels what we do.