When I was in the army, they gave us a pickaxe and sent us to dig a hole. In fireteam partners (FTP), one of us kept watch while the other dug, and we traded off as required. I don't remember how long it took. We dug until we could stand and just see out from the ground. Cheats; my FTP and I were both under 5'5. That hole wasn't as deep as some people had to make theirs. It didn't fill any less with water. The night frost was still cold. The waking nausea of sleep dep still made it feel like...
I realized that I don't feel like saying anything lately. Polling the office at work, it doesn't seem like anyone does either. The causes were broad, from some people citing that politics were crazy, and they felt socially disconnected and uncomfortable. Largely, the weather has been to blame.
I don't really care to reflect on myself very often, but as my own focus has been incredibly displaced to a point of frustration, it seems necessary. The similarities between complaints, which I...
Three things hit me within the last week. I received a significant editing package, which, as lovely as they are, often manages to suck a little bit of the soul out. I had a lovely conversation with an agent who had fantastic recommendations and incredible words of encouragement delivered in even measure with areas for growth. I attended a festival where some of the conversations and feedback were so surface that I sighed about the cost of parking.
The takeaways. Writing stuff will always be...
I am not intending on editing these heavily. This is just a place where I am going to throw my thoughts about my life into a literary abyss. I've been asked in the past about writing in non-fiction, but frankly, something about selling my life that way is too unsettling. I have a hard enough time processing it on my own without commodifying it. That's a shortcoming.
Where does someone even start with things they remember about their life? 'Oh, I was born between where the canola meets the...