All Posts By: Byron McCoy
A FEEL
Some days, what she needed most was a feel—a something more than bland malaise of passive living through a day. Last January sky rose to stay of gray from day before, cool but not cold, damp without rain or snow’s fall, it was a dreariness that made the cool seem colder than it […]
IN THE GRAY
Sky remained in its overcast and his melancholy returned. He told himself he didn’t know why, but maybe he lied. It was a sadness of doubt, a questioning of hope, when one believes, then fears—perhaps I’m wrong. To give in hope and act in faith—to share and make one’s art—these are what one controls. […]
FURTHER THROUGH
Sky was gray and a soft mist fell, world warmed and changing light-dream snow to despond of mist that rose at times to drizzle. Inside, at island, he looked to book beside. It had a cover of bright and bursting colors. He read the title, and then small sub beneath, Big Magic: Creative […]
STORY-SCENE
“…the older I get, the less impressed I become with originality. These days, I’m far more moved by authenticity. Attempts at originality can often feel forced and precious, but authenticity has quiet resonance that never fails to stir me. Just say what you want to say, then, and say it with all your […]
PEOPLING
There is a limit to my peopling. There is a finite to its endurance. When it is reached, I change. There is a limit to an introvert’s extroversion. I need quiet and time alone. My ability to balance depends on this. It’s a reason I farm—to be alone, no one around, and work […]
ENERGY’S LAST
He was tired. He was drained. It’d been a day. She saw it in his eyes. She held her book, but it was him she read, the way they always seemed to do. “I’m tired,” he spoke. “I’m peopled out; not from everyone—not you—but there’s no one else I want to see.” […]