Where does it Come From?

We draw material for our stories from the world, and the lives we see and hear around us - both the ones that are physically close to us, and those brought close by that two-edged sword that is modern technology.

Old farts such as myself can be fond of reminding younger people that "the human race got by for thousands of years without mobile phones, televisions, and the internet" but we can find ourselves just as thoroughly reliant on the constant, flickering flow of information and opinion as any of the generations younger than us.

While that flow of story can provide us with prompts, information, and inspiration for our own creative work, it can also overwhelm us - especially when that flow seems to be a tsunami of tragedy, and ominous behaviour and utterances from those who claim to be leading us to a better future.

It can be hard to write something in an upbeat tone when the media is full of the droning mendacity of politicians who are busily doing nothing while trying still to look competent, effective, and worthy of re-election.  It can be even harder when the various media are full of the posturing of nuclear armed bully boys.  Hope and optimism can be difficult things to find on days like that.

It is enough to send you back for another look at On The Beach, or The Earth Abides.  There is plenty of dystopian and apocalyptic literature around, full of action and drama featuring heroism or technological miracles that ultimately lead to some form of salvation and renewal for the human race.  These two old novels, however, are more likely to be true to life - a brief, dramatic disaster caused by human agency, followed by a slow and painful decline for the survivors.  At least George R. Stewart allowed nature to survive - indeed, to thrive - as humanity faded from the scene, and he did allow a glimmer of hope for homo sapiens towards the end of the novel.

Perhaps I need to throw myself back into the escapist fantasy of my youth, by authors like Asimov, Tolkien, Ransome, and Heinlein.  Or, maybe I should be re-reading my Scouting for Boys before heading out into the backyard to practice my survival skills.

Out there, I will be among the trees and gardens, surrounded by the sounds of running water, windblown leaves, and birds of all sorts - and the Scout's guide book won't be so necessary after all.  I will be instantly reminded of the good in the world.  It must be time to turn off the news and listen to life again, for whenever I do so, I find life not only persisting, but flourishing. In the recent winter warmth my ear was pulled along by a familiar buzz until it brought me to the rosemary bushes by the letter box - where I found lots of these little folk, out in numbers quite unexpected for a winter's day.

I wonder where their hive is - rosemary honey would surely be wonderful, fresh from the comb.  Incidentally, if you are a drinker of green tea, it is worth brewing a pot with a pinch of rosemary leaves, fresh from the bush - fresh plucked thyme is also a lovely addition.