If Strangers Talked to Everybody like They Talk to Writers

Last week, writer and tweeter extraordinaire Elizabeth McCracken tweeted this:

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There is something unique about the way people talk to writers. Strangers seem very willing to offer career advice — “self-publishing is where the money is!” — literary advice — “People love vampires!” — or to oddly ask you to guess what work they’ve read in their life and if any of yours is among it. It got me thinking about what it would be like it people talked about other professions in this way.

“Ah, a middle school teacher? Have I met any of the students you’ve ever taught?”

“Cool, I always wanted to be a car salesmen. Maybe when I retire I’ll settle down and just work on selling that Buick I’ve had in my head for years.”

“Huh. A chef. Do people still eat food?”

“An accountant? Wow, I haven’t even looked at a number since high school.”

“You own a hardware shop? Nice! Do you sell tools with wood handles? People love wood handles, you should really sell tools with those.”

“So Chet tells me you’re a bartender. Would I have tasted any of the drinks you make?”

“News anchor? Okay here’s a news story I’ve been thinking about for years: the vice president slips into a vat of grape jelly. People would love that story, right? It’s yours! I’ll never have time to get away from work and break the story to a national audience myself.”

“Non-profit grant writer? Hmm. My 7-year-old niece is into non-profits. Do you write grants for any children’s non-profits? Maybe she’s read one of your grants.”

“Software programmer? Like, for actual computers sold in stores or just as a hobby?”

“Gastroenterologist? My aunt tried to be a gastroenterologist. Hard to make a living doing that! Hahaha!”

“Menswear designer for J. Crew? Interesting. Have you tried selling your clothes yourself on Etsy instead? I hear people are making millions self-designing on the internet these days.”

“You said a Wall Street banker? Interesting. Would I know any of the economies you ruined with borderline illegal practices?’

by Lincoln Michel

Top Ten Excuses Why My Children Can’t Stay in Bed

Bunch Mommy Code

These children…  Please, for all that’s holy, STAY IN BED!!!  Every single night, at least one starts in with the inevitable reasons about why he or she has a valid reason for being out of bed.  Here are some of the most popular and some of my favorites….

1).  “MOM!!!!  I HAVE TO POOP!!!”
For Pete’s sake, get out of bed and go relieve yourself.  What am I supposed to say?  They know darn well I’m not going to let them… Well, you know…

2.)  “Mommy.  I need a hug.”
Awe… Come here… Now get in bed.

3.) “My brother or sister or dog is being too loud!  I can’t sleep!!!”
Dude… They’re asleep.  Are you hearing things?!  No… You’re lying.  You know what happens to liars. Go get in bed.

4.) “Mom, I need to tell you something!!!  I ‘wuv you in the entire world’ “…
Okay, that didn’t…

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Authority

Tanner Lee Bailey Publications

Authority, a most necessary of evils.
Perfect in theory, devastating in practice.
The imperfection of its enforcers
bleeds through, black ink into white linens.

At first it’s pure.
Structure is needed, authority the cure.
Yet one thing is absolute;
abuse of power, a constant lure.

A constant cycle forged,
corruption reigns over the sheep;
The Shepherd begs to be slain.
A martyr will rise.

The black sheep,
amongst white,
stands for the cause alone.
The Shepherd doth not condone.

His crook latches round’ wooly neck
silencing the just cry.
An example is made,
similar outcries will join the dark solitude.

The air is now silent;
yet not the minds,
for a shadow has been cast
in once milky hearts.

Action hath ruptured more eardrums
than defiant dialect desired to.
Blind eyes no longer turn;
an onyx council adjourns.

Together they rise.
Unrighteous Shepherd faces demise.
Yet with no guiding light

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“And falling sounds like a lullaby”…

by eyewillnotcry1973

She can’t outrun the darkness…
She can’t escape her past…

She can’t repair the damage…
Those scars will always last…

The flashbacks forever haunt her…
Sense of shame is all she feels…

And though she tries so hard…
It’s become impossible to conceal…

Her guilt is overwhelming…
She tries to live in constant denial…

The tablets will numb her senses…
But only for a very short while…

It’s like she’s in a dark tunnel…
Where black is all she sees…

With no sunlight on the horizon…
And no one around to set her free…

As she’s been to such dark places…
She’s seen things that horrify…

And temptation is getting stronger…
To escape this harrowing life…

She knows there’s one way out…
She knows she has a choice…

The only way to end this…
And finally silence the voice…

End the day to day trauma…
Escape her cruel prison cell…

Incarcerated by those memories…
Putting her through this daily hell…

That scream a little louder…
Every dark and lonely night…

She used to be much stronger…
She used to be able to fight…

But the years have taken their toll…
Each day has ground her down…

Now she never smiles anymore…
Her face carries a constant frown…

And the decision gets a little easier…
It becomes closer every day…

Just to overdose her system…
And wash this pain away…

 

Source: “And falling sounds like a lullaby”…

An apology to my autistic students…

Someone's Mum

I am sorry. I am a good human being – a good teacher, I think. I listen, I learn, I strive to be better. I know it is a great responsibility to shape young minds, young opinions. I thought I knew what it means to teach a pupil with autism. But experience has given me something knowledge never could and I am sorry; now I begin to understand.

Before I was the mother to my son – my son who I now know is autistic – I thought you might struggle to imagine as vividly as others. I see now that isn’t so; your minds can be quick and bright and colourful – like exotic birds, beautiful but unusual. Sometimes you just struggle to imagine things that are governed by the expectations, the minds, of others.

Before, I knew that some of you might find relationships difficult. I thought your emotions ran differently…

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Drowning…….

These Sacred Scars

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Drowned in vodka–covered in ashes—washed in smoke, hope had left him sometime ago.
His eyes moved past me. I imagined him staring past the stars of this universe, mesmerized by black holes spinning on reverse, lifted between the edge of time.
He, flying beyond long dead stars that still shine with light.

He finally spoke……
“I’ve drowned in others dreams, swallowed by their heaviness and their needs–shoving their wants down my throat. We’re all born naked into this world clothed with a soul uniquely ours–Live like it!

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