The Mini-Saga

Ah, the Mini-Saga. The special one in literature. Writing a mini-saga feels like getting ripped abs without working out. It’s a story of fifty words- no more, no less – which has a beginning, a middle, and an end, just like any other whole story. It can be anything you want it to be, but it must give a complete thought, or tell a whole story.

I love writing mini-sagas. It has become some sort of addiction, even, as it gives me the satisfaction of writing a full story in the shortest way possible, without the effort that writing a longer story sometimes requires. But hey now, it’s not a walk in the park. You may not be working out real hard, but those ripped abs need to be gotten some other way. The mini-saga takes a lot of mental effort, and an ability to creatively connect a series of patterns in your head, to make a decision about how a story ends, all in fifty words.

Here’s one I wrote. I’ll be doing this very often, and sharing with you. I have a lot of stories to tell, so I bless heaven for this shortcut called the Mini-Saga.

The Faith in Her Instinct

“Nobody goes into the emergency ward and leaves the same!” Uzor warned. I was confused; certainly I couldn’t bear to see so much human pain, but I needed to be sure. When I got to the hallway, something told me to leave immediately, that my father was fine. He was.

Done! 🙂


If I Have Learned One Thing…

If I have learned one thing, in these diluted times, where people expect you to live up to their standards, it is to be choosy, and to be so in a special sense.

Be Choosy.

“Choose things in your life that will endure, that are a pleasure to use. Classic clothes never go out of style. Furniture should get better with age. Choose things because they delight you, not because they impress others. And never things be more important than your family, friends, and your own spirit.”

Marney Morris, founder and president, Animatrix. (Quote culled from Daniel Pink’s book, A Whole New Mind)


A Dog Seller’s Gift

On these roads, people hawk different things,

Watches, fruit, yoghurt, even paintings.

During the usual hour of traffic on your way home, please buy yourself a hand-made tunic,

And matching slippers, if you like.

Thinking about what others need is the best way to go,

Money comes this way, most of us know.

But there was one man, on this particular road,

He knew the same thing most of us know,

He had many puppies for sale in a cage by the bend,

And he always had two of them firm in hand.

Other hawkers appealed to our eyes,

But this man appealed to our hearts

The way he held those new puppies in each hand,

Each animal limp and comely, full of life and promise.

Come, dear dog man, let me see

Those wonderful creatures a little more closely.

I have a daughter who I have hurt, and a new puppy may help restore our bond,

Or maybe it won’t, but it will help pacify

During the times that I have to be away.

No gift has ever satisfied, no treasure yet enough

To make her okay with the time I spend away at work,

But while I cannot change the way things are right now,

Mr. Hawker, you have given me a new hope, a new song.

The dark-brown puppy will be hers,

And oh! Will she be surprised.

Here, come take what the puppy is worth,

And a little more,

For standing on that road by the bend, where I could see you.

I will let you know how much she loves it; I know she will much so,

Because her heart is a rose, strong; it’s the heart of a child, ready to love.

Thank you, dear dog man, now I shall go my way,

First to the mall for some dog food, and then to the vet for some advice,

Lest my angel make the puppy her roommate, and feed it all her rice.

And when I get home, I will put on some music, the kind that she likes,

With the puppy in its cage, adorned with a big red bow.

When she has seen it, we will dance in a circle to her favorite song,

Then I will let her take her puppy out of the cage, and watch her face glow,

And hope her little heart remains happy here on, no matter where I have to go.

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt

Photo by Alfred Eisenstaedt

If I Have Learned One Thing…

If I have learned one thing about love, one not-so-new but constantly striking thing about this weird symphony of hearts, it’s between the lines of this quote by Adrienne Rich, a writer whose work I recently came across, and absolutely love.


“No one’s fated or doomed to love anyone.

The accidents happen; we’re not heroines.

They happen in our lives like car crashes, books that change us,

Neighborhoods we move into and come to love.”



Adrienne Rich

Adrienne Rich

Time’s Sting

I’m gone, from your space
Erased a little more every day
From a memory once vibrant and alive with thoughts of my face.

You’re a blur, your form becoming more undefined as time passes,
And what is left of what I used to see is what you left behind, what I cannot let go of just yet.



C. S. Lewis has so much beautiful written work to his credit, but this is my all-time favorite. He hit the message right home. Please enjoy.


By C. S. Lewis

Most of us find it very difficult to want “Heaven” at all, insofar as “Heaven” means meeting again our friends who have died. One reason for this difficulty is that we have not been trained: Our whole education tends to fix our minds on this world. Another reason is that when the real want for Heaven is present in us, we do not recognize it. Most people, if they had really learned to look into their own hearts, would know that they do want, and want acutely, something that cannot be had in this world.

There are all sorts of things in this world that offer to give it to you, but they never quite keep their promise. The longings which arise in us when we first fall in love, or first think of some foreign country, or first take up some subject that excites us, are longings which no marriage, no travel, no learning, can really satisfy. I am not now speaking of what would be ordinarily called unsuccessful marriages, or holidays, or learned careers. I am speaking of the best possible ones. There was something we grasped at, in that first moment of longing, which just fades away in the reality. I think everyone knows what I mean. The wife may be a good wife, and the hotels and scenery may have been excellent, and chemistry may be a very interesting job: but something has evaded us. Now there are two wrong ways of dealing with this fact, and one right one.

1. The Fool’s Way: He puts the blame on the things themselves. He goes on all his life thinking that if only he had tried another woman, or went for a more expensive holiday, or whatever it is, then, this time, he really would catch the mysterious something we are all after….

2. The Way of the Disillusioned “Sensible Man”: He soon decides that the whole thing was moonshine. “Of course,” he says, “one feels like that when one is young. But by the time you get to my age, you’ve given up chasing the rainbow’s end.”

3. The Christian Way: The Christian says, “Creatures are not born with desires unless satisfaction for those desires exists. A baby feels hunger: Well, there is such a thing as food. A duckling wants to swim: Well, there is such a thing as water. Men feel sexual desire: Well, there is such a thing as sex.

If I find in myself a desire which no experience in this world can satisfy, the most probable explanation is that I was made for another world. If none of my earthly pleasures satisfy it, that does not prove that the universe is a fraud. Probably earthly pleasures were never meant to satisfy it, but only to arouse it, to suggest the real thing. If that is so, I must take care, on the one hand, never to despise, or be unthankful for, these earthly blessings, and on the other, never to mistake them for my true country, which I shall not find until after death; I must never let it get snowed under or turned aside; I must make it the main object of life to press on to that other country and to help others do the same.”


Love In Rising

You knew, when you asked me in,
I knew, when I let you in.
We knew- of the infinite possibility existent in even a prototype of our love.
You, with eyes seeing more than the obvious,
With a mind beautifully disturbed, wheeling like relentless clockwork in a wise grandfather clock.
I, with a heart like the horizon, steady in desire and wide in cover
With a mind of timber, ready to build anything of its choosing.
We happened, hearts merging one time after the other.

This time, however, I thought we had a clue
I believed you saw that stairway leading up to heaven
And my willingness to climb with you
We let go of the past, and hand in hand, we began again
But explain to me, what became of our love in rising?

There were traffic lights along the way, constantly green, assuring me to keep moving
But what made those lights turn amber?
And if I decided to move on, regardless, I risked a crash
Without you there to save me, on that Saturday in November.
So I stopped, unwillingly; moving on seemed foolhardy
It was the only thing there was to do.
For I am a giver, a lover, a trusting old soul,
But if I do not feel safe, I tend to go away from you.

I have heard of a certain perfection, an ideal of the highest rank-
A Love, so perfect, beside it mine cannot stand.
He loved us first, so we can love like Him,
Now the partial act can be put away, and perfect love, into me, may be instilled:
Patient, believing it will all come through,
Kind, considering the effect of my actions on you
Not rude, not self-serving
Always hoping, never ending.

Sometimes, I wonder how the world stays turning when it feels like all is crashing down,
Sometimes, denial is my best friend
But very often, I remember you, and hope to live again.
You might be convinced beyond redemption, gone without recourse
And I might be trying to heal
But love never really dissolves, it only changes form, evolves.
And made perfect by the Author of Love Himself,
A new love will blossom in its time
And in its rising, will not be dimmed, but shall continue to shine.