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Read This
Required Reading. Sloane Crosley is hilarious. She is also whip smart. I mean, I’m going to be a huge fan of anyone who titles her first essay collection I Was Told There’d Be Cake. Similarly, anyone who opens said collection with an essay beginning with “As most New Yorkers have done, I’ve given serious thought to the state of my apartment should I get killed during the day.” Her observations of her world are nuanced and hilarious and feel oh-so-familiar to this twenty-something dealing with the weird world of adulthood. In case I was wondering if it really made any sense for me to identify with her life, this New York Times essay…
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Quoted
If I stay long enough in the studio, just stay with the work even if it doesn’t feel great or seem satisfying or directional or conclusive, if I just stay to tend and garden, then my mind gradually yields control to the more automatic labor of painting, and with that comes a sweet spot in the process further down, a worn groove, a sense of ease. — Anna Schuleit
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Reading Watching Listening
Like the weekly reading series I introduced on Wednesday, this is another returning personal favourite series. Part recommendation, part record for myself. Reading... I’ve started some reading for a contract research position at a museum, so just yesterday I re-read Margaret Atwood’s “The Age of Lead” from Wilderness Tips. It’s a surprisingly touching story from a collection that I would argue is some of Atwood’s best writing. Watching… I started re-watching One Tree Hill over the Christmas break. Sometimes a girl just needs a good dose of teen-oriented soap opera-esque drama supported by a kick ass soundtrack and the prodigious use of “meaningful” quotations. I’ve also been actively trying to convince myself…
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Wisteria, Gloucester Circle
A little over a month ago, I finally got up the nerve to start selling some of my photography prints online through Society6. This was a long time coming for me, so thank you to those who have patiently listened to me fret about how, when, and if I should do this. If you are interested, you can purchase prints of the image above, and a few others here. You can always find the shop by clicking the “Shop” tab in the menu as well. I’ll keep updating the shop as I work on editing images, so check back often! This particular image is one of my favourite shots from…
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Read This
Required reading. Last time I kept a blog with any sort of regularity, I ran a series like this. It was one of my favourite things to put together each week, so I’m bringing it back. A friend of mine shared this glorious piece from the ever on point The Toast with me on Facebook a while back. I read it an immediately missed the person who shared it with me, amazed at just how well he seems to know me. I also immediately wondered how the author had managed to steal my thoughts. This is Jody Mace’s “Considering a Possible Human Head”. Maybe this has happened to you. You take…
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Quoted
Ella is looking at her oddly. “What’s the matter, Morag?” “I – don’t know. Sometimes I get – well, scared. I don’t feel all that normal.” Ella shrugs. “So – who wants to be normal, anyhow?” “I do,” Morag says with passionate conviction. “Oh Ella, I do. I want to be able to talk to boys the way they want to be talked to. Only I can’t seem to get the trick of it.” “Boys like that are schmucks,” Ella says furiously. “But yeh, I know what you mean.” “You too?” “Yeh. I went out with this guy a coupla weeks ago, and I thought Now this is It. Here is your opportunity,…
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Some Years
1 a.m. January 1, 2016 New Year’s Day Some years you want to pause at the end and reflect. Some years you want to remember the things you learned, the people you met, the love you felt, the places you visited, the things you accomplished. Some years you are sad to say farewell. Some years you run headlong into the next year with high hopes, declaring that you can’t wait to see what it has in store for you. Some years you want to light the year on fire and walk away while it burns. This year is the second kind.
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You Don’t Have to Know What You’re Doing
I started putting this website together almost a year ago. I thought about putting it together for at least a year before that. My official excuse for taking so long to do anything with this space: graduate school. Specifically, comprehensive exams. My real reason: perfectionism and the fear of failure. I have spent an inordinate amount of time trying to choose colours, figure out what the best layout is, come up with an awesome posting schedule, figure out whether this was primarily a blog or a portfolio, and write an amazing first post that would lay out all of the fabulous things that are going to happen in this space. Essentially,…
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Repetition
Say it.Say it over and over and over again.Say it like a mantra.Say it like a magic spell.Say it until you believe it.Say it until it sounds wrong.Say it until the words twist in on themselves.Say it until it makes sense.Say it until your voice runs out.Say it until your throat is raw.Say it until you’re swallowing blood.Say it until you can’t breathe.Say it until it’s true.Say it.Say it.Say it.Say it until it stops being true.Say it.Say it.Say it over and over and over again. This poem was published in the June 2013 edition of Open Heart Forgery.
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How To Be a Young Adult
Miss your parents. Be struck with deep, heart-hollowing longing for them at the oddest of moments. Wish your mother was there when you are trying to decide whether a striped shirt should be washed with lights or darks. Feel the absence of your father when you watch a good documentary. Call them for no reason other than to tell them you bought some new storage containers and the grocery store didn’t have any good avocados. Be annoyed when your mother does the same. Love when your father emails to tell you about a typo in the newspaper.Long for home. Be confused about what that means. Fly back to your parents’…