DEATH IS ETERNAL #402
2,500 words
If I were to elect the toughest day for writing DEATH IS ETERNAL, Monday would surely win the first, second, and maybe third prize, depending on the week, just because it’s the day I write the short story. Although I love to write, coming up with a new idea every week is tough. And it’s even tougher now that I’m producing two short stories per week—one for the newsletter and one to submit. But fear not, dear reader! I trust my creativity and know I can come up with something week in and week out. Will the idea and/or the execution always be top-notch? I wish they were, but realistically, they won’t be. But that’s not a problem, right? You understand that’s just a hobby for me (unfortunately), and so I can afford not to be excellent all the time. Now that’s a great piece of advice: allow yourself not to be excellent all the time. Embrace mediocrity every now and then. You deserve the break! Remember, taking breaks and prioritizing self-care is crucial in life.
Contents
EARTHLY DESIRES
Writing: prompts
Bye!
Life (from May 24 to June 2, 2024)
Review #278: THE DETECTIVE CHIMP CASEBOOK VOL. 1 by John Broome, Carmine Infantino, and others
The end
1. EARTHLY DESIRES
“Douglas Adams once said—or wrote...” Noelle paused, trying to remember. After a few seconds, she shrugged because it didn’t matter, “...that humans must share some DNA with beavers. For him, that was the only explanation for why we like to build so many dams.”
“That’s The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy guy, right?” Jane asked, more interested in Douglas Adams than in Noelle’s point.
“Yes, among other things,” Noelle confirmed. “But I think he was only partly right. What we all share—humans, animals, even plants and rocks—is the need for land.”
“Land?” Jane echoed, glancing up.
“Yes, land!” Noelle’s eyes brightened.
They locked eyes. Jane wondered if she should ask the obvious question, and Noelle waited, waiting for the cue to elaborate. The silence stretched for a brief moment before Jane gave in.
“Why land?”
“Think about human history. From the earliest days to now, all we’ve done is conquer land. We want spaces that belong to us. We want houses, and inside those houses, if we live with others, we want to control more rooms than they do. At work, we want the biggest office. On the bus, we want a seat with no one next to us. We’re programmed to crave more and more space, and that made us fight,” Noelle’s words spilled out faster, her excitement growing.
Noelle had been developing this thesis—more like a chain of thoughts—for a while now. Speaking it out loud to an audience, even if it was just Jane, felt like a dream come true.
Meanwhile, Jane was still thinking about Douglas Adams. “He was a really funny guy,” she mused, barely listening to Noelle.
“Back in the day, the fights were bigger because the lands were bigger,” Noelle continued, taking a deep breath. She knew this was the most crucial part of her point and needed a moment to gather her thoughts. “Take the Hundred Years’ War—great PR, by the way, because it actually lasted 116 years, but ‘hundred’ sounds better. It was a conflict between England and France over control of land. Yes, there was religion involved, but what’s religion if not a means to control land? If you control the people, you control their lives and their land. Everything comes back to controlling land!”
Jane tried to listen actively, but her mind wandered. She loved Noelle dearly, but in moments like this, she wondered how they had been friends for almost 30 years. They were so different. Or, at least, it sometimes felt like they spoke different languages.
“I guess the secret is pretending to listen and never saying the quiet part out loud,” Jane thought, missing half of Noelle’s argument because she was too busy developing her own thesis about her friendship.
“Today, the lands are smaller, and so are the conflicts. The world is more integrated, so conflicts, although they have global repercussions, are more regional. But we still see conflicts over land daily. After the Industrial Revolution, people lost the right to claim unclaimed land—unclaimed simply because it was too far away. We started living in cities, where land always belonged to someone. That’s when Marx noticed something. He said workers should unite to reclaim the means of production. But what is that, if not the fight for a place to live and work? Essentially, it’s still a fight for land.”
Noelle was now in another world, lost in her thoughts.
As was Jane.
They were in the same room but not on the same plane of existence. At least, their minds weren’t.
“The problem with Marx is that he was a man of his time. He couldn’t predict the future. Maybe if he could, he would have adapted his theory. He was right for his era. But now, with billionaires trying to colonize Mars, he would see what I see: that everything on this planet shares a desire for more land. We don’t just want to own the means of production, convert others to our beliefs, or even become obscenely wealthy. We want more land than others! Trees want to grow and spread to get more nutrients, thrive, and reproduce. Animals seek more territory for food and mates. We want more land because it increases our chances of survival. It’s in our DNA—everything alive wants more land because more land means success!”
Noelle finished her impassioned speech with a smile. She was tired, her voice hoarse, and she was sweating, but she was thrilled. She had been thinking about and rehearsing this for a long time, and being able to articulate it without missing a single point or losing her train of thought felt triumphant.
Jane, who had only tuned in for the conclusion—knowing from long experience when Noelle was wrapping up—quickly dismantled the whole argument.
“I know I’m no Marx or Noelle Devi, but instead of saying we want more land, wouldn’t it be more precise to say we simply want to survive? We do what we can to survive first and then to survive comfortably.”
“But why go to Mars?” Noelle asked, though she already knew the answer, hoping her point wouldn’t be entirely dismissed.
“Because Earth is doomed,” Jane stated simply.
The two friends looked at each other, realizing what had just happened. They burst into laughter.
“You listened to less than half of what I said and still dismantled my whole thesis,” Noelle laughed.
Jane grinned. “That’s why you keep me around. Without me, you’d be running around claiming you’ve solved everything. Now, stop living in your head and do what I asked you to do in the first place: go sit over there because I want to stretch my legs. And while you’re at it, pass me the remote. I want to watch something.”
Still laughing, Noelle got up to fetch the remote. Jane sighed in relief as she stretched her legs after what seemed like a long, long day.
The end
2. Writing: prompts
When it comes to prompts, I find myself circling back to the topic once again. It’s been over a year since I last delved into this discussion, yet my perspective remains essentially unchanged. Still, recent experiences, including one where I had to write based on a prompt—sort of—encouraged me to revisit the subject with fresh eyes.
Let me start by explaining what I mean by “sort of” a prompt. It wasn’t your typical prompt, like “Your protagonist is a voracious reader. Lately, they’ve been noticing odd synchronicities in the books they are reading. What does the protagonist discover is happening?”—courtesy of Reedsy. Instead, it was a specific requirement outlined in the submission guidelines. However, it was so rigid and central to the story’s plot that it felt akin to a prompt, dictating the entire narrative. And therein lies the crux of the issue for me and my writing process.
The essence of what drives me to write is the desire to tell my own stories, to bring to life the ideas that bubble up in my mind and demand expression. Writing, for me, is about giving voice to these organic inspirations. There’s a certain magic in letting ideas flow naturally, as opposed to the mechanical and somewhat forced nature of adhering to a predetermined prompt.
Does this mean I’m incapable of writing based on prompts? Certainly not. I can adapt to various prompts, as evidenced by the fact that I’ll submit a short story after I have received feedback from my peers. However, it’s a more arduous process. When I’m writing my own ideas, I feel a surge of motivation, and the words flow effortlessly. Characters speak to me, and the worlds I create unfold with ease. But when confronted with a prompt, I must consciously summon creativity and motivation, which doesn’t always come naturally. Forcing creativity, I’ve found, seldom yields the best results.
Now, don’t misconstrue my stance as a dismissal of the utility of writing prompts. Even I have benefited from them, as evidenced by my recent submission. My contention lies in the fact that, for me, there are alternative and more conducive avenues for fostering creativity. Prompted writing, while sometimes necessary, often feels more like a hindrance—a necessary evil, if you will. It’s a tool in the writer’s arsenal but not always the most effective one.
3. Bye!
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