First things first: my latest story for Janet Reid's flash fiction was named a finalist. It didn't take the prize, but I did think the winner was a pretty good tale.
And it's Monday, so it must be Indies Unlimited. Here is the photo of the week.
This was a funny one to write. The verbal cue talked about a "trans-harmonic camera." I decided to go with something like that. But it seemed as though my "brain-writing" efforts only generated about 100 words. But I sat down to type, and out came about 240. Voila! "Letting Go."
I hate these newfangled digital cameras. About the only good thing I can say about them is that when I take a picture of my thumb, I know it right away, which allows me to delete it and take another. Of my thumb, that is.
In fact, so pervasive was my photographic futility that it became a running joke around the house.
“How can you tell it’s winter?”
“Because Dad’s pictures show his glove, instead of his finger.”
For my entire life I’d had aspirations of being a great photographer. Unfortunately, now, I’m forced to admit that anyone associating my name with the name Adams would choose the creepy / kooky / mysterious / spooky television show family (not to mention upwards of a hundred others) before the great Ansel.
But hovering there on the periphery, seeing my family happy again, I wanted to capture the moment. Though try as I might, I could not get a clear picture. And for once in my... life, I needed to.
“Damn!” I muttered. “Why can’t I get this thing to focus?”
“Because you’re on a different plane,” came the answer from no one, from nowhere.
“But I need to. I want to remember them the way they are. I want to remember.”
“Of course you do. Everyone does. But it’s against the rules. You’re not supposed to remember them exactly. Your memory is supposed to fade. It’s how you let go.”
“But I don’t want to. I want… Who are those people?”
Kind of fun... yes / no?