Authenticity, Flash Fiction, Life Stuff, Main Genre: Science-Fiction, Microfiction, Reality, Wisdom

On “Life is What You Make It”

Micro-Story: He thought of the time people would say "Life is what you make it." That was before the regime.


Point of view and overall situation matter a lot in any given story — whether true or fiction.

If you live somewhere that you can even fathom life being “what you make it,” you are lucky.

There are multiple ways of looking at this, though, none more right or wrong than the others.

For those living in places of some type of oppression, there’s no choice to “make” life what you want.

However, for those living elsewhere, it may be living without something (or someone).

In any case, you may still have to trudge through the thorny bushes every day. You can’t act like they’re not there — and you’re still going to feel them if they cut you. To suggest that you can make deep cuts go away easily is to suggest that the cuts don’t matter.

If you’ve been cut deeply enough, you know that they do — and that being told “life is what you make it” is just a band-aid that doesn’t even to cover a gruesome wound.

And it certainly doesn’t help to heal it.

So yes: Let’s always try to make lemons into lemonade — but let’s also empathize and try to avoid rubbing lemons on someone else’s wounds.



"Time-Comber's Book" Series, Authenticity, Life Stuff, Microfiction, Reality, Retro Fiction, Truth, Wisdom

“The Time-Comber’s Sketchbook, #4: Depth of Heart at a 1940’s Fairground” (Flash Fiction Series)

"Time-Comber's Sketchbook" Intro: For more, click here.




Image of Carousel Horse PaintingEntry #4

A beautiful fairground in the 1940’s….I was floating through my current destination very slowly, taking in all the colors, sights and sounds.

In the back, among wrapped-up carousel horses, likely back-ups for the merry-go-round’s usual horses, was an artist standing with all sorts of glorious paint colors. In front of him stood a “blank” carousel horse — completely white, with only molding showing where the details would go.

And I felt, from that artist, a heavy heart…perhaps from something someone said to him, something that happened to him. It was the heart with an invisible stab wound.

And here he was, supposed to make something beautiful — something awe-inspiring — when he felt anything but inspired in his harsh world.

But I knew he would do it. Being a person of light is hard. You can mistrust everyone. You can question everything. But in the end, you do it…because there’s nothing else for you to do that fits.




More of “The Time-Comber’s Sketchbook”


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