And as a writer, I must think not only about how to adapt to that new publishing reality, but also think about how to be part of the movement that helps those positive changes remain.
Being at home all the time now means that I am levitating between on and off, a light switch halfway flipped, and the light bulb is flickering.
Two thoughts that I feel should be in a blog post, though I don’t know how to make them cohere: Write the days; record this moment as if we were living through history. Because we are. I’ve seen tweets that implore the necessity of starting a journal now, of recording daily life now, because yearsContinue reading “Moment to moment”
As a writer, I know the benefits and enjoy the act of reflecting, perhaps too much.
If we were having coffee, I might tell you how hard I’ve been on myself lately.
I am 26 years old now. This coming week, I’ll be turning 27. I’m still laughably, sickeningly young, and yet also worried that the youth card will be revoked soon.
Even-numbered years, for me, tend to be split in two.
I feared that I would end up putting so much time and effort into something that just wouldn’t work.
Coming back to New York felt like relaxing back into my original shape, like the easily-navigable grid of Manhattan.
If we were having coffee, I’d first pull you over to the window where my desk is, and show you the view of the community garden across the street, and the natural light that spills in, even on a cloudy day. Though the past few weeks have been more stressful than usual (moving apartments doesContinue reading “#weekendcoffeeshare: 25”