fifi’s graffiti

It was dreadfully hot, the middle of Moodling Season. Everyone trudged rather than walked, dragging sopping wet armpits in their wake. The two brothers, Weaves and Juicester, decided a trip to Planet Earth for some fishing was exactly in order. They donned their fishing togs, swept up their violins, and planted themselves in the Sprint Crasher. They arrived at Lake Lovis at 4 a.m. just as the perch settled in for breakfast.

“By Jove!” exclaimed Juicester. The other fishermen on the pier looked up quizzically.

“These Mishygators don’t know Jove,” whispered Weaves. “Alternate your Expletives.”

Juicester did so, and everyone laughed.

The two brothers settled in with their violins for an hour or so, until the horizon beyond the scrub juniper glowed pink with impending sunrise. The sun leapt into the sky and the heat shortly became intense.

“By Jove!” said Juicester again, forgetting his expletives. “I didn’t know they had Moodling here.”

“Yes,” replied Weaves, who was grumpy because he had caught no fish, and had forgotten to bring a snack. “Here, I’ll hold your violin. Perch with your perch, and let’s go home.”

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After whining away the morning yesterday, I had to do something, anything creative. I had clipped a newspaper article in which a local writer, Karen Thomas, interviewed author N. Scott Momaday, and included some lovely practical advice from him about writing, which I’m sure can be applied to other creative efforts.

“Practice,” is Mr. Momaday’s simple advice. “It is crucial to put words down on paper. Make a beginning, start writing something and see how it develops. It’s like longing to play at Carnegie Hall. Practice, practice, practice.”

Read the rest of Karen’s article.