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Location:Texas, USA Naturalized US Citizen of Irish extract -   Fixed Wing and Helo trucker.Interests: "The Absurdity of Man". I am a proud supporter of Blarney, Nonsense, and Hooey. I enjoy being a chopper jockey, and trying to figure the world, people and belief systems out. I'm just not very good at it, so it keeps me real busy. I scribble, blog, run this website, mess with rental houses, ride motorbikes, and read as much as I can. I went solo 44 years ago, and I like to say I'm gonna get me a real job one day. When I grow up. ("but not just yet, Lord, not just yet") For my aviation scribbles see www.chopperstories.com.... enjoy! I wish you Peace in your Life. May you always walk with the sun on your face, and a breeze ruffling your hair. And may you cherish a quiet wonder for our awesome Universe. Life isn't always good. But it is always fascinating. Never quit.
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Revealed Humanity


Revealed Humanity



       A small handful of stories achieve something, that the common mass and jousting jumble of written words never, ever will:
  
They give us a glimpse into the very soul of the writer, naked and uncovered, brave and bloodied. Their tales are their gift to us. They permit us to walk a mile in their shoes, and breathe in for a humbling moment the very essence of their interaction with Life, Death, and the Universe.

     These stories are rare, and precious, for their spiritual and emotional intensity. Their clarity and nobility. Through them, the humanity of the writer is revealed, bravely, for all to see.  Katie achieves this with "Summertime", and T.Clifford does it with "Of Dignity and Despair". Alister Flik does it with "Confusion", and Legion hits us hard with "The Man that Ruined my Life". Very often the writers themselves have suffered. But without their hurt, the doubt, the bewilderment, even the self loathing, they would never have brought to us that delicate picture, that finely chiseled monument to compassion and feeling.  Those are the stories I always hope to find.

     Before Writers' Harbor, I was a member of Writers' Cafe. Dear, oh dear.  Not nice. I remember one young black writer, obviously poorly educated, but writing feelingly about gangs, drugs, and the random impregnation of young girls for macho bragging reasons.  Brilliantly insightful. Sure, he had technical issues, grammar goblins, the usual. Just the tools of the trade. You can acquire those over time.  But the story behind it all was beautifully feeling. Well, the self appointed website Judges assaulted this emerging writer with a viciousness that was truly uncalled for. Soon, beaten up and discouraged, he withdrew into the shadows, and we heard no more from him. Such a loss.

     I say that 99.9 per cent of writers take themselves way too seriously, and rate their own skills way too highly. Against that, 0.1 per cent of all writers are the often hidden, emotional and spiritual giants.  
A handful of stories achieve something, that the common mass and jousting jumble of written words never will:   

They give us a glimpse into the very soul of the writer, naked and uncovered, brave and bloodied. Their tales are their gift to us. They permit us to walk a mile in their shoes, and breathe in for a humbling moment the very essence of their interaction with Life, Death, and the Universe.

Revealed humanity.   Brave.  Awesome. The giants amongst us.
Those are the story tellers...  I always hope to find.



Francis Meyrick





Last edited by Francis Meyrick on June 8, 2013, 1:39 pm
We little humans, hurtling through the Universe on our tiny, pale blue dot, will find few answers to Life's great mysteries. But we should at least find many of the questions. To write is to ask. To seek. To grope. With humility, and humor. Peace.
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