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Things hockey does to me, part many lots.
a) YAY THE RED WINGS ARE ADVANCING TO THE WESTERN CONFERENCE FINALS YAY YAY.
And while I wait in hope for more adorable goalies-in-the-handshake-line photos to surface, there is this going on in my head:
Pretty regularly, I hear a song and, songs being how they are, there is a line or two that perfectly evokes some complicated and intense emotion, and I think I want to write a story that does that. Even though, working with text instead of instruments and a voice, it would take ages and ages of setup and probably never achieve that perfect, crystalline moment, still: I want to write a story that does that.
Hockey comes in here: I would now really, really like to write a story that evokes the way it feels to watch a winning team at the end of a hockey game, when they all pour onto the ice, crowd around their goalie, and, one by one, pat him on the top of his head or more often touch (helmeted) foreheads, or some combination of such touches. One by one, each man goes to the goalie and then skates away off the ice, with a few who hang back to escort him off. I would really like to write a story that does that. Somehow.
b) I had three-quarters of a beer while watching the game and now am mostly horizontal, head propped on own shoulder, as I type. I swear I am not this much of a lightweight, except when I am.
And while I wait in hope for more adorable goalies-in-the-handshake-line photos to surface, there is this going on in my head:
Pretty regularly, I hear a song and, songs being how they are, there is a line or two that perfectly evokes some complicated and intense emotion, and I think I want to write a story that does that. Even though, working with text instead of instruments and a voice, it would take ages and ages of setup and probably never achieve that perfect, crystalline moment, still: I want to write a story that does that.
Hockey comes in here: I would now really, really like to write a story that evokes the way it feels to watch a winning team at the end of a hockey game, when they all pour onto the ice, crowd around their goalie, and, one by one, pat him on the top of his head or more often touch (helmeted) foreheads, or some combination of such touches. One by one, each man goes to the goalie and then skates away off the ice, with a few who hang back to escort him off. I would really like to write a story that does that. Somehow.
b) I had three-quarters of a beer while watching the game and now am mostly horizontal, head propped on own shoulder, as I type. I swear I am not this much of a lightweight, except when I am.
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