Cliches, a Cap, and Cobblestones

I just read a review that a friend wrote about a book. The friend felt cheated, robbed of their time after a weekend spent between its pages. The reason the book fell flat was a calorie bomb of cliches. Listening to just a few of them was damning. And made me think.

Real life is not cliched. It is surprising. Good or bad, it catches your breath whether it's a sunset, first sip of beer, or the baseball cap that blew off last June that suddenly returns, beaten and weathered after months of living rough. Putting it on wouldn't be nice. It needs a wash. You give it a try then have to give up. The hat had adventures in the wild. In winter, boar, deer, and wolves track those woods.

Yesterday, the wind was howling. Hail fell on our cobblestone street. The sound, like groceries dropping from a height, is something. I rushed to the windows to see. Spring. That's all it was. And more, I realized. Nothing is cliched about real life. Writers get real!