Passing Through - Ice Girl, 2

I thought you said eating and fighting, said Literacy. You must be fucking crazy. My survival depends on eating and fighting. Reading and writing is for idiots. Millions never learn how to read or write, let alone scribble stories. No chance. No money. No tools. Education is a waste of time.

I see, said ice girl. When I write my stories filled with immediate sense impressions and precise details they lose their magic. They are like ice. Ice loses its essence. It reverts to a primal form. Existence precedes essence. It’s lost between heart-mind-hand-tool-paper. Spoken stories lose their edge. Too many people talk out their stories. Magic is lost in the telling. Lost tales float around looking for ears. Talking kills magic and mystery. Ghost stories. World tribes memorize chants, rhythms, songs, tales and star trails with a side order of red dust. You never hear a kid say, Let’s take the day off and be creative.

Here’s my secret. I’m looking for a literary agent. Someone said they help writers. I sent one a query. She wrote me a letter with ideas. I will share it with you down the road. I write at night. During the day I’m busy with school and selling ice. If she asks me I will send her this manuscript. Maybe she will love it. Maybe she’ll find an editor and publisher with a big marketing budget, global distribution, readers and the rest is history, as they say. If not I’ll be independent and publish it myself. Ice is my life. I will never give it up. Besides writing, weaving, laughing, loving and living, it’s my life. Writers have homework every day of their lives.

Wow, that’s lovely, said Leo. You perceive and transform the world.

Yes, she said, I follow my bliss. If it’s not in your heart, it’s not in your head. I recombine world elements fusing images and dreams.

A man arrived on a broken motorcycle. She handed him a blue plastic bag of ice. He gave her Real currency.

I follow my blisters, laughed Leo.

Where are you staying, she asked.

I don’t have a home. I live in small houses along the road. I’m passing through. For now I sleep at Future Bright.

Everyone’s passing through. I know it. The woman owner smiles and lies at the same time.

Ice Girl in Banlung on Smashwords.