What’s in a Book?

I bought a book, ladies and gents. Aye, a fine book. Perusing a dusty, little used bookstore was not as inspiring or even as exciting as I had first hoped. There were maybe 5 bookshelves sparingly stocked with other people’s words bound in various formats. But I found one. One lonely soul among the lost.

Before I share the title, I want to read to you the excerpt which made me desire this book with abundant glee, enough to dig up a whole 2 dollars so that I might purchase it from the disinterested (and vaguely “touched”) bookstore keeper.

In the display cases of commercial photographers in the (blank) market towns there is mute but graphic evidence of the terrors which marriage holds for the (blank) male. Testimony to the foreboding the (blank)man feels about matrimony is written unsparingly in the displays of wedding-party photographs. The centerpiece is always the bridegroom, trussed up for once in his life in formal attire. He stands there stiff with fright and stares wildly into the camera’s eye. Ranked beside him is the best man, who looks almost as miserable as his doomed friend. The other males in the wedding party try to conceal an expression of pity or contempt, if unmarried themselves, or a sort of gloating commiseration, if married. On the face of the bride there is often a look of bewildered triumph, as though she were still unable to believe the trembling specimen beside her has knelt with her before the parish priest. She may also be conscious of the fact the bridegroom’s mother, even though he may be a boy of forty-eight, is looking daggers because a scheming female has snatched her son away in the prime of his youth.





I have a feeling this may prove most amusing to idle away the wee hours.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


Strange Things

I sometimes think it is more interesting to meet strangers.

Their lives are still a big, bold mystery waiting to be discovered. There’s so much new surrounding them, so much that is yet to be told. When you meet a stranger for the very first time, you can’t help leaning a little bit closer. You ask all the right questions and never receive a wrong answer.

When you meet a stranger, your heart is open to all the wonderous possibilities the person could offer. Or you could offer the person.

I sometimes think it is more interesting to meet strangers, don’t you?

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin


It’s a Sly, Old World

It creeps up on you, this feeling.

As the sun worshippers parade around in their ceremonial tank tops and flip flops, you’re not entirely sure what you believe. You feel like you’re standing on a precipice. You look out and view the land – colors, movement, emotions.

And what the worshippers don’t want you to see, don’t want you to realize, is that the sun is shining a little less bright each day. Now comes the time of the winds, and the clouds, and the rain; colors – bright exotic beautiful colors – a final, glamorous display asking forgiveness for what may – no, inevitably, will come.

Then your heart realizes what it is that creeps and sweeps across the land in all its artistic inevibility.


Your feet are a little lighter. You don’t mind the rain. You don’t mind the darkness in the morning or the late evening. You start to dream of fields, orchards, and firesides: dry, crisp winds carrying a feeling of intangibility.

This old, revolving world isn’t so bad. The winter wasn’t so harsh. Summer wasn’t so short. You look forward to Autumn because you realize at the end of these days the change is inevitable. Can’t stop it, stall it, start it over. The best efforts you can give is to embrace it, or ignore it. But whoever said ignorance is bliss when you’re really missing out on such a bright, bold, beautiful world as this?

Welcome back, my friends. It has been a long season. A glorious, wonderful season of life.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin

Ponderings, Writing Prompts

Writing on the Right Side of the Brain

By Daniel Mega

Exercise 1: Idea Journal

When I was a kid, I used to keep tiny notepads in my back pocket ALWAYS. I had a small book bag my grandma sewed for me with galloping horses embroidered on the front (still have the bag, btw) and I always had paper and pen handy.

Because I was a writer. It’s what I did.

I couldn’t have been more than 13 or 14 when I first started writing. I was terribly unorganized. I couldn’t finish a single story to save my life. But, gosh, did I ever brainstorm ideas! Names jumped out to me, streets became worlds, an interesting face weaved its way into words and stories. I still have most of my old story ideas and manuscripts. I purged some that I knew held no emotional value to me.

As an adult, I’ve lost much of that instant creativity. My thoughts are more focused and streamlined, which helps me write better and FINISH. But in reading this book (the title of the blog,) I realize developing my imaginative side a little more would improve many aspects of my life.

What do you think? How has your daydreaming evolved over the years? What do you find makes you feel most creative?

Leave no stone unturned and don’t stop until you’ve arrived.

This has been,

Fan T. C.


2.0 Stories From the Front Lines

Titled: Technological Failures

Subtitled: But only the links we use and need every day to operate…

Ladies and gentlemen,

It’s no lie that retail can be ranked as one of the worst jobs around. Working with the public is never easy, but working with everything else involved in managing a store front can be taxing on the best of days.

Since accepting the position of supervisor, I’ve learned enough about upper management’s short-falls to make me sick. It’s akin to being a teacher in a classroom – unending responsibility and hardship, absolutely no control over the students or politics.

Here, I’ll begin to regale you with tales I like to call “Stories From the Front Lines,” because it’s here that I’ve discovered what it truly means to lead a team.

Today’s theme is defined by tripped alarms and stubborn computers…specifically only the links I NEED to load.

There is no small amount of work that needs doing on our computers, specifically during the morning shift which was where I found myself one morning. I couldn’t log in to the basic network, which was where EVERYTHING resided, but fortunately I could at least log into the back network and get such things as registers and terminals online.

My plight was not nearly as disastrous as the manager’s, as she had to finish payroll and was having a difficult time of it…


And after yet another complaint against various persons because the store manager has no disciplinary skills, I’ve come to the conclusion that everyone is tired of this place and just scraping to get by.

We’ve lost two good people in the last week, and I can summarize my team as follows:

The lazy, selfish old man who cares nothing for others.

The woman hiding her insecurities behind snark and sarcasm and that incessant laugh.

And the gentleman who speaks to no one, but who gives you the distinct impression he’s living within a musical somewhere…

There’s no zip. There’s no zap.

There’s no spark.

Welcome to Walgreens – the land of zombies – where service is always with an undead smile and the occasional eyeball can be seen rolling lazily down the cosmetic aisle.

This has been,

Fanny T. Crispin