Roadrunner Musings

Wandering with my eyes and heart open, searching for pieces to add to my own personal big picture.

After the Ecstasy, The Laundry #1

We can spend our lives trying to be safe and never actually live.

Something I recently yelled…I mean vehemently stated…in an argument was just this: What you’re doing makes me feel not safe!

So much to unpack right there.

We can look at every aspect in fear or in the spirit of adventure.
We can live our whole lives in what we believe is safety and never really live.

Seven Years in Tibet #1

I'm back! ❤
This one sounds like Star Trek.

“Holiday” Break

Talking a break from the world for a while.

Thus Spoke Zarathustra #5

Bird By Bird #3

Or a social media post.

The Cider House Rules #4

The analogy of pruning fruit trees and life. ❤

The Cider House Rules #3

A book is different for each reader.

Oh, Socrates! Still calling people out!

Good old Socrates got flagged by "Fact" checkers on Facebook today.

A Little Writing Anarchy: “Bought & Paid For”

Today, I’ll be promoting a little writing anarchy. Just a little, nothing too crazy.

Do you have to use writing prompts to create fiction? I don’t think so! I don’t think there’s anything I HAVE to do when I’m writing. I’m reminded of a scene from a movie: “You’ll do it and then he’ll do it and soon enough, EVERYONE is doing it! It’s total anarchy!” Probably not a scene from any movie that was actually made, just one that I believe exists only in my head.

“Bought and Paid For” is the prompt given to me today by Writer’s Write. I’ve heard it used before, in old movies and books, but I’m not totally sure of the meaning, so I looked it up.

Urban Dictionary’s entry was no help at all. Wiktionary was only slightly more helpful. I mean, at least I know how to use the phrase in a sentence now. But where did it come from?

The History Channel’s article “10 Common Saying with Historical Origins” sounded promising but the phrase I wanted wasn’t listed. How does that show up in a search?

Thinking about the meaning, I saw Santa’s workshop and all the elves working away at all those toys (for good little boys and girls). A small boy, maybe 8 or 9 years old, starting to lose faith in the existence of such magic, stumbles across the workshop while exploring old warehouses in the dark heart of a big city.

Magic can be found anywhere these days, if you look for it. No need to sequester it in far off places. Most people would walk right on by this place, maybe even work right along side it, and never see what’s shimmering beneath “reality.”

The boy explores down an alley and catches a whiff of something pleasant, warm cinnamon and cool pine. He follows his nose. Then a tinkling of small bells catches his ear, almost a laugh. A twist. A turn. And then a glow under a large sliding warehouse door.

He pulls but it’s too heavy for him. He lays down on the ground to see if he can catch a glimpse of what’s inside. Laying down, he presses face against the cold damp asphalt, and sees…no…that’s very strange…small green and red felted shoes walking busily back and forth.

The pace of the feet quickens, the singing swells louder, and then it all stops. He hears the clomp of a heavy boot moving towards where he lays, then sees the culprit. Black shiny boots pass in front and stop at his head, facing away from him.

His breath catches at first and he forces his next breath to draw in slow and quiet. Is he afraid of scaring the dream away, waking himself up?

The chattering he heard previously has hushed and all the felted feet turn toward the black boots. The black boots rock forward onto the toes and back again to the heels, while a long heavy breath is drawn in.

Suddenly a clatter is heard, possibly a dropped tool or project supplies, he can’t be sure. The rustle of quiet heads turns in awe. And then… The black boots shiver in front his eyes with a chuckle as it deepens into a belly laugh. A sigh comes from the amassed felted feet and the giggles, singing, and tinkling of bells returns.

But the boots continue to stand there. He imagines the body above the boots surveying the work being done in front of him. When will he move on? The boy is starting to grow cold, though so curious about what’s happening beyond the door. The damp is starting to creep up into his clothes and chill him. Besides…he really has to use the bathroom.

He decides he can wait no longer and slowly, quietly as he can, begins to move his hands under him in an effort to stand up and sneak away, when the boots rock and turn toward him in a flash. The boy freezes in place only to see the crack beneath the door grow dim with the approaching feet.

His breath freezes inside him as the huge sliding door creaks with pressure and then groans slowly open, flooding him and the alley with warm yellow light. He knows he’s been seen but he still can’t will himself to move.


I went for a walk to think of an ending to this story but only came up with, “Does a story ever really end?” Also, I’m out of time today. I never did get to a place to use “bought and paid for,” but I will or maybe I won’t. Writing anarchy!

I am very excited about where the story was going. Aren’t you? I think, for both our sakes, I’ll spend some time on Part Two tomorrow morning. I may not find an ending to the story, just a decent place to stop for a moment, but at least we can find out what happens to our little friend and what might be “bought and paid for.”

Go back to the first post of my November writing prompt challenge, “NaNoWriMo: But It’s NOT a Novel, It’s…” for more of these non-book related posts!

Thus Spoke Zarathustra #4

Keep seeking answers.

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