Month: November 2013

Many Cups to Drink From

  This is kind of weird.  I don’t remember starting this post or choosing this picture or what the title meant–“Many Cups to Drink From” but I must have done it in the past week.  It was here in my drafts and I feel compelled to continue it in some way.  Perhaps we’ll look at…
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Ordinary Continued

Forgive me, I am tired. But I want to put this prompt–or rather this continuation of our last prompt–out into the world. First of all, go read this I want you to take a photograph or a mental image of an ordinary, happy day in your life that maybe wasn’t particularly momentous–the kind of photograph…
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When the Water Stills

When you have done what you can—no question of whether it is enough, there will come a time when it does not matter. When the water stills and you are invisible you will wander and marvel again: at the patterns of the carpet, oil in puddles, the scar on your mother’s hand the fact of…
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Veteran’s Day

Veteran’s Day elicits a lot of mixed emotional responses from the Veterans I know.  It’s one of those areas where I don’t have the life experience to have a genuinely informed opinion, and being a person who speaks with authority on things I don’t understand is something I work to avoid (because I am naturally prone to get…
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Permeability

The sadness nearly got me this week. That’s a lie. It did get me and it shook me. It still has me. None of it is officially my own. Some of the people I love and work closely with, people who make my life more beautiful and bearable, are suffering. People I have lost love…
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Why I care

This weekend I was asked, “Why do you care?  Why do you care whether someone spends the weekend wallowing in their barracks room or eats dinner or sleeps or feels like shit?  Why do you care?” It wasn’t a jerk question.  It was real talk.  And my answer was real–that I care about people who…
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Oh, I’m doing this…kind of

It’s National Novel Writing Month.  If you recall, I failed terribly at it last year.  I was trying to write a novel in which my protagonist, a woman in her thirties, has a few months to say goodbye to her dying father.  I spent the first ten thousand words avoiding bringing the father into the…
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