Issue 6: Grab the Rope, For Once

A lifeline too limp, an estuary of pity, and three-hundred funerals.

Welcome to The Bluebird Paradox, a gritty MicroZine written by me, Chris Sadhill, that explores the coexistence of light and darkness, focusing on social issues and the human experiences we often overlook, presented through various short stories, poetry, and other creative arts.

The Bluebird pays homage to Charles Bukowski’s poem Bluebird, which delves into themes of vulnerability, repression, and the struggle to express oneself authentically.

Often, the Bluebird symbolizes hope, love, positivity, and renewal; however, throughout my life, I’ve observed the presence of darkness where there is light, leading me to believe in a paradoxical relationship between the two.

The Bluebird Paradox embraces the inherent contradictions and complexities of our existence and seeks to reveal deeper truths about society, emotions, and the human experience.

As always, thank you for being here. Please enjoy the read.

Photo by Nikolaos Dimou

Everywhere we look this month, we’re reminded to be “thankful.” Whether it’s a branded coffee cup, ads burning holes into our retinas, the mini billboards looming at the gas pumps, or Aunt Janis tapping her third wine glass at the dinner table, demanding everyone share what they’re thankful for, the message is everywhere—and so is the pressure.

Hell, even I’m talking about it. Jeez!

But for those deeply suffering—drowning in despair for whatever reason—being thankful, or finding something to be thankful for, is easier said than done. Ironically, the changing seasons often intensify these issues.

When you’re “in it,” the pain is raw, immediate, and overwhelming. It’s hard to gain perspective, to see how lucky you really are, to notice the people closest to you, or sometimes right in front of you, who’ve been throwing you life preservers all along. During the darkest times, vision narrows; to those on the outside looking in, it can look like someone feral and out of control, drowning, or clawing desperately at anything they can reach—sometimes even hurting loved ones in the process.

Maybe that’s why these traditions, passed down by those wiser and older than us, encourage reflection. They nudge us to consider why or how we’re still alive, to appreciate the people who’ve contributed to our successes—or at least helped us fail less—or even to recognize the sheer improbability of being here at all. Hundreds of decisions, events, or chances could’ve led to the opposite outcome, where you are Not Here.

Is taking a moment to reflect really such a bad thing? Should those of us who are suffering make the extra effort to notice how loved we are, even if we don’t feel it or see it?

Thanksgiving, in particular, forces this expectation to “be thankful.” We’re often put on the spot to express gratitude, as though we should’ve prepared a speech or something. It can feel awkward and intense—especially when confronting our feelings in front of others, especially when we’re blind to those feelings.

If you’re like me, even in darkness, you’re still aware of what’s in the light. Sometimes, it’s the reflection of seeing how your suffering hurts others that spirals you further. But that awareness is important, and it’s the start of something better.

If you can still see the people who love you, it’s not too late. Stop fighting. Let them in. Trust that even if they fail, it’s out of love and compassion. You won’t be any worse off anyway, right? And if they succeed, well, everything improves. So, there’s no downside. Take the time to notice them, appreciate them, and thank them—not with your words, but with your trust.

And for those who are trying, tired of throwing a limp rope, keep trying. We see you. Know that many of us are fully aware of your pain. We look through a dark window at your suffering daily and just know at times it feels impossible to stop even when we are aware. Never forget that our intentions are love. We don’t want this either.

Take time to be thankful for each other.

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This month’s theme is inspired by a poem I wrote in 2023 titled Lifeline. I wrote it as a poetic apology to my wife—but more so as an acknowledgment of the pain I’ve caused her over the years when I spiral into that dark place hating myself. I also wrote it as a reminder for me to let her help me when I’m suffering, to entrust that she is strong and capable enough to handle it, and to pull me out.

If you’ve ever spiraled so far inward that climbing back out feels impossible, this poem is for you. When you’re living in that shadow, you’re painfully aware of how much it hurts those you love, and seeing it happen in real time damages you even more.

I hope reading this encourages you to grab hold of that rope, as I have, and let others help you—for once.

Lifeline


Today,
she wept for me,
because she couldn’t comprehend
how incapable I am
of seeing the genius, she sees
in her besotted stare.

Her face, an estuary—
where pity flowed into disdain
as she was forced to remain a spectator
of my demise,
watching me
loving myself
through degradation and sabotage,
and avoiding the mirror
like it was the plague.

I wallowed in it,
transfixed by the destructive vortex,
hellbent on pulling me under,
while she threw me a lifeline,
a line that would’ve undoubtedly
saved me.

But instead
she stood there,
makeup smeared,
grasping that limp rope—
tethered to my darkness, 
lonely, scathed,
and powerless,
because the whole time
I’d been hurling the preserver back at her,
choosing to surrender to drowning
over her loving embrace.

And I know it.
And it hurts me too.
And I’m sorry,
I regret it every time.

Today,
my wife mourned me,
because she didn’t understand
the darkness I live with
or how sometimes it swallows me whole.
And when it does, 
neither of us know if it’ll spit me back out,
or take me under for good.

Today,
she wept for me,
but mostly for herself,
left alone once again
to attend my funeral for the three-hundredth time—
just as heartbroken,
just as devastated
as the first.

When will I learn to divert the raging waters 
devouring our foundation
before the ground crumbles away, 
and takes us both?


When will I learn to grab the rope?


©2023 Chris Sadhill

Sadhill’s Music Minute

“Night” by Daniel Spaleniak encapsulates the struggle of living in and out of darkness. The song begins with an invitation to observe the quietness of the night, hinting that the blackness is perhaps bleaker and lonelier than it seems, often pulling us in beyond our control. He then suggests that external forces have both contributed to his despair—switching him off—and later offered salvation when someone grabs his arm, guiding him out of the void.

Daniel’s gritty, melancholic voice pairs with a haunting tone and melody that convey the pain of both the sufferer and those reaching out with a lifeline.

The result is raw and undeniably beautiful.

While the lyrics and atmosphere are heavy with depression and misery, the song ultimately delivers a positive message: if we allow ourselves to listen, trust, and follow those who wish to help, we may feel the rain again—and in doing so, trade our bad dreams for good ones.

"Night" was featured in S2E2 of the television series "Six", and S3E10 of Hulu’s drama series "The Path” in 2018.

Sadhill News

Writing Battle

The results for the 2024 Autumn Short Story Battle aren’t out yet.

My story, The Roach and the Butterfly, has officially completed its duels in the peer-judging phase along with approximately 1,460 others. At this point, my fate is likely sealed—unless, by some miracle, it has made it into the finals. If that’s the case, it’s now in the hands of the professional judges.

Regardless, reveal day is December 1st, so the wait continues to find out how my story is placed.

Twisted Tournament

By the time this issue drops, I’ll have already submitted my entries and started judging my fellow writers’ 500, 250, and 100-word stories. This is the second Twisted Tournament contest I’ve entered, and if it’s like the first, it’s going to be wild. Stay tuned for the results in the next update.

Tyrone-Snyder Public Library

I’m honored to have been recently added to the local author list at my library—how amazing is that?!

I was surprised with the updated list earlier this month, and it nearly brought me to tears. This recognition means the world to me. It keeps me focused on my goals, knowing I have such an incredible support system—not just at home, but now at work, too.

I’m beyond grateful for my team at the Tyrone Library. They’re truly something special, and I can’t wait to debut my first book there...whenever I finally finish it!

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Publications

I loved my Autumn Writing Battle story, The Roach and the Butterfly, so much that I’ve submitted it to Apex Magazine which is still open for submissions at the time I write this. I’m hopeful they’ll find it compelling enough to publish.

As always, time will tell, but just in case, I’ve scouted a few other potential lit mags I can submit to if they decline. Their response should take around forty-five (45) days.

I’ve also submitted several of my nature poems Plucked, Breathing In The Sun, Daffodil, Natural State, and Pigeon Wine to Appalachian Review which I feel is a perfect home for these poems. Their turnaround time is typically ten months—It’ll be a while, but I think it’s worth the wait!

Wish me luck!

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Upcoming Events & Contests:

2024 Writers Playground: Next Date Unknown

2024 53-Word Story Contest: Dec 1st- 14th

2025 Winter Short Story Battle Writing Battle: Feb 6th- Feb 9th

2025 Twisted Tournament 3: Feb 17th- Mar 12th (Considering NOT)

October’s Challenge Winner

Thank you, everyone, for submitting to last month's challenge. I’m always impressed by the amount of talented pieces you all send me. To recap, the prompts were “Season of Decay, Amber Helix, or Repugnance.”

Congratulations to Mariah for the win!

The winning poem is contemplative and melancholic, but not despairing. It presents the natural world as a place where life and death coexist in harmony and is a gorgeous metaphor for the inevitability of death and the traces we leave behind.

Momento Mori

by Mariah

Rich autumnal odor

Of mottled ferns

And loamy earth

Dappled sunlight

Falls upon a sepulcher

Of soft moss on maple roots

Ephemera of bent trees

Printed like epitaphs

On brittle leaves

Mariah prefers a life of solitude, much like Dickinson. In fact, I’ve often compared her style, depth, and use of gorgeous language to be equal to—or even surpass—Emily’s.

Mariah showcases a small portion of her work on theprose.com. I’m honored she was willing to share this piece with us and, as always, I look forward to her next one.

Sadhill Writing Challenge (500 Words)

Each month I provide a Writing prompt encouraging fellow writers to stay sharp, compete in friendly competition, and challenge them to push past their creative boundaries. The winning piece will be featured in next month’s issue as well as any links the winner wants to share to promote their brand.

November Prompt: “Open Call”

Rules:

• Any style of Prose or Poetry is accepted.

• It must be five hundred (500) words or less.

• Only one (1) entry per writer per monthly contest.

• Reprints and Simultaneous Submissions are encouraged.

• This month’s deadline is 11:59 PM or by the end of Monday, December 23rd, 2024 to allow time for final edits.

• You must be subscribed to The Bluebird Paradox to enter this challenge.

• Your entry does not have to include the prompt word or phrase but must have the essence of the meaning captured. Metaphor and obscurity are encouraged and finding something beautiful in the darkness is even better.

• If it is an “Open Call” all themes or genres are encouraged.

• All entries must be sent to: ChrisSadhill@gmail.com. Please use the Subject Line: Sadhill Writing Challenge (Include the Month). You may paste the story directly in the body of the email or attach a file. Please include any promotional links you would like to advertise.

• This is an opportunity to showcase your talent and work while cross-promoting your brand with mine. In the future, there may be prizes awarded, but for now, there are none. I’m poor, damnit. If you have any donations, such as books or merch you’d like to donate for promotional giveaways, email me and I will spread the word in my next issue!

• By entering, you agree for your work to be published in my MicroZine for no less than one (1) month and if chosen as the winner it will be included as content on my Substack.

• You retain all rights to your work and upon request, I’ll gladly remove it for any reason following the featured month of publication. In the event of removal, the story title and name will remain listed along with any links to your new piece’s home, if you would like.

Good Luck. See you next month!

…and please leave a comment. I love hearing from you.