I “I do not think one can assess a writer’s motives without knowing something of his early development. . . before he ever begins to write he will have acquired an emotional attitude from which he will never completely escape.” George Orwell in Why I Write I remember the first story I ever wrote. It lacked […]Read More
How about this suit—— Black and stiff, but not a bad fit. Will you marry it? It is waterproof, shatterproof, proof Against fire and bombs through the roof. Believe me, they’ll bury you in it. (Sylvia Plath, The Applicant) In writing this blog post I am neglecting actual tasks I really need to be working on, […]Read More
New forevers are circling me in a way that is both enlightening and threatening. Enlightening because I feel lucky to be where I am and to have the options to move forward that I do. Threatening because, well, I have to make choices, which inevitably will exclude some forevers from my life – at least […]Read More
When people ask me what’s next for me, I tell them I do not know. It’s the truth.
But it isn’t a bad truth. I don’t feel that I’m in a position where exiting tertiary education next year leaves me no options, or that I’m completely unprepared for the ‘outside world’ or stand no chance in it. Yet when I say “I don’t know” in response to this question, the connotations are generally negative in sentiment.
I have barely written on this blog for a while; I’ve mostly been sneaking around the internet with disposable usernames on busy platforms where identity is displaced from the stories it belongs to, into some thick void. I’m still thinking and participating, just not right here, nor with my name.Read More
I used to measure the timeline of my life through journals. When a friend said to me, “Remember that time – “, I’d think in my head yes, from the red journal. That system kind of shattered when I was gifted two identical books, but the main ones still stick out in my mind. […]Read More
Never mistake silence for weakness. Remember that sometimes the air stills, before the onset of a hurricane – Nikita Gill, Her Silence I tried to write this post on a Friday night. I leaned back in my bed, opened up a blank page on my laptop and stared at the cursor, blinking at me tauntingly; I […]Read More
I January 27th 2016 He’s pulled me to front counter at the end of my shift. Out of earshot of everyone else. They’re cleaning up. They don’t need instruction, they’ve been doing it the same way, in the same order, for years. Like greasy teenage robots. Lots of things are beeping, but that’s normal. I […]Read More
“What happens when the story involves suicide, murder, crime, war, death, incest or rape? What if these were part of our family stories? And as writers, what do we ‘do’ with these difficult memories?” (Guntarik et. al 2015)Read More
“If you don’t ever reflect, you just stay an idiot”.Read More