I’m still writing every day. I don’t post everything I write for one reason: most of it is unfinished and I really hate publishing unfinished work. During my periods of my longer writing, I get small bursts of inspiration. Little bursts of mental spittle that coerce me to stop what I am doing and begin something new.
Some people contest that I take everything one step further than necessary, or too far all together. But I argue that I am simply stating the things that everyone thinks, yet are too embarrassed to say.
A few years ago, when I started my current job, my manager at the time decided that the best way to stifle pessimism was by motivating our team through various methods she’d conjured up.
She gave kudos during team meetings. She collected feedback from internal customers; sometimes it was positive. She even bought us plush fish and instructed us to take our fish and dress it up as a reflection of our personality. I made sashimi out of mine.
She tried hard and I’d definitely give her an ‘A’ for the effort, but then she gave us the starfish speech and the gloves were off.
I’m not big on modern-day parables, especially poorly written ones. No one can live up to Jesus or Robert Fulghum. Also, just because someone has a PhD and a lot of time on their hands, does not make that person an inspirational poet. The Starfish Flinger is boring. It’s childish. And flinger is a one word I would never use in a story unless it was uttered by one of my characters. Going as far to use flinger in the title rocks the very fibers of my body.
So I had to retaliate.
The Starfish Flinger
Loren Eiseley, PhD
As the old man walked along the beach at dawn, he noticed a young man ahead of him picking up starfish and flinging them into to the sea.
Finally catching up with the youth, he asked why he was doing this.
The answer was that the stranded would die if left until the morning
sun.
“But the beach goes on for miles and there are millions of starfish,”
countered the other. “How can your effort make any difference?”
The young man looked at the starfish in his hand and then threw it to
safety in the waves.
“It makes a difference to this one,” he said.
THE BOOGER FLINGER
Phil A. McClellin, BA
As the old man walked the mall in the afternoon, he noticed a young boy ahead of him picking boogers from his nose and flinging them onto shop windows.
Winded and finally catching up with the young boy, he asked him why he was doing this.
The answer was that the gooey boogers would sicken people if left on the shops’ glass.
“But the mall has many levels and there are thousands of windows,” countered the old man. “How can you be assured that your effort makes anyone sick?”
The young boy looked at the blood-streaked booger on his finger and quickly flicked it on the old man’s tie.
“I’m assured with that one,” he said.
[529]
