Monthly Archives: February 2021

Books, Creative writing, Making No Sense of the World, time

Timepeace

I took the batteries out of my analog clock. The ticking was unbearable at times. Like the heartbeat of a monster sitting in the dark beside your bed.

I was given the engraved desk clock at an old job as an anniversary gift. A handsome dark wood casing with brass accents and Roman numerals. and my name on it. Now it sits mute behind the globe of Mars that sits on my counter. A thing that troubled me hidden behind a thing that comforts me. But it’s still there. And the ticking continues.

No, not from the clock. The cold of the winter seeps under my house and cools my heater ducts. As they cool and as they warm, the ducts click rhythmically with expansion and contraction. The monster possessing a new object, but the same monster. Time.

It won’t give us the space to breathe, but expects us to achieve. It demands our servitude, all while reminding us it will only give us enough of itself to serve it, never enough to serve ourselves. And one day, when it finds us no longer useful, it will kill us.

I always thought it rather macabre that a traditional gift from an employer is a timepiece. A reminder of what they’ve taken from you that they can never return to you.

The novels are done for now, so there’s a break. It’s not that bad working on my passion, but it is a very emotionally draining process to put all of the things in your soul, even the things you run from, into a story and live in it for the years it takes to get it done. Especially when you have never figured out how to recharge.

Can’t take too long, though. Time is finite. and I have more left to write than that which I’ve written. Though it does some good to vent thought without planning or structure as I do here. I’m sure I’ll find the energy soon to write the sequel trilogy.

Thanks for your attention

Your babbling friend,
Ed

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