I think that the analogy, ‘there is two sides to every coin’ is a dumb one. Making a statement like this insinuates that everything is black and white, right and wrong, up and down, kale shakes and cupcakes. This omits the most fascinating part of being alive: the many shades of gray that color interpretation of events.
I may look at someone and say they are an asshole, while that same person maybe the sun in your sky. I dislike brussel sprouts, you may think they are the bees knees. See what I’m saying? Interpretation is key, and there is no color code. You decide for yourself, coins be damned. It is less like a flipped coin, and more like the polls on a magnetic ball. Some degree of positivity and negativity shape everything, in many different directions.
Some days I am a good person with a dash of dick, others I am a dick trying to be a good person. Some days a junkie wants to be clean, and other days a preacher wishes he was a junkie.
We are all insane, the only difference is the degrees and duration of our sanity. Think about that the next time you get cut off in traffic, or when you are about to snap at your child. Without these tests in our lives, we would be caricatures of people – bright colored and without substance. Have a nice day assholes.
I, my friends, I am wealthy with audio books. My collection has taken a long time to get accumulate, and is almost as large as the physical book collection in our house. I’m dancing in circles, my head to the sky beneath a rain of ones and zeros, a digital downpour of audio performances of some of the great, and most of the not so great books in history. I enjoy audio books when I do not have time to read, when podcasts become boring, and when I have miles and miles to go before I’m home.
I’m editing right now, when I get a chance anyway, you see it’s hard to edit a book written on the road when you spend so little time in front of your computer. The brilliance of others is my daily sanctuary.
I guess you can say that my first manuscript is mostly done. So what does that make me? Have I crossed oved that magical threshold that makes me an author? Who am I kidding, the word is semantics, and you are what you say you are. There is no right of passage to becoming, save for one: writing a book, which for all intensive purposes, I have nearly done.
I am so glad I stopped giving it away as it was being written – the book i mean. Not only have I changed the story by a wide margin, but even the name is different. I am calling it The Pusher. Vague, right? What a learning experience this has been, and here I thought I was a writer. It truly is a craft that one never masters.