File under moments I think to myself, yes, I could live here again one day. #nyc (at Riverside Park)
“ This legislation sends a message heard around the world: Seattle wants to stop the race to the bottom in wages and that we deplore the growth in income inequality and the widening gap between the rich and the poor. ”
Councilman Tom Rasmussen.
At $15 an hour, Seattle now has the highest minimum wage in the country, proving yet again, that it’s the best city on the best coast.
"After the kid came, we both became less attached to each other, and more attached to the kid. We stopped talking to each other at night. We stopped being intimate."
"Did you realize you this was happening?"
"Then why didn’t you stop it?"
"Because I think we both wanted it to happen."
Re-blogging this not only because I know this man (finally, a HONY I know!) and his honesty here so fits his personality, but because his words are true. Whether it’s a kid, a job, or a disagreement about shared goals that gets in the way, there is that time in some relationships when you see you’re drifting apart and *can* turn things around… but you don’t.
16 meetings in 2 days + 2 consecutive nights of getting home past 11pm (I’m old, people) requires Blue Bottle sustenance. #bea14
Guys, I am in a bad, bad place with my writing. I’ve not thrown a word down on the page in weeks and I’m anxious & cranky about it and what’s worse (worse than this run-on sentence) is that I can’t even blame the fact that I’m busy. I mean, I am, don’t get me wrong. But what’s happening right now is that I’m stuck. I’m in a dark, deep hole and I cannot get my characters out.
You see, I’m working on a newish novel that I started when I got stuck on The Search for Lizzy Ross, the second book in the Lizzy Ross series. Yes, the same thing happened six months ago so I thought a new project would inspire me. And it did, for approximately four-and-a-half months. Now, though, my character has less of a purpose. I’m no longer writing her story; I’m her travel agent, shuttling her around a night in NYC as if she were a first-time tourist.
But I digress, the issue here is that I need to break this pattern. A writing teacher I had years and years ago once called the new, shiny thing that sounds so good and promising while being in the throes of another “a slut project.” I hate that term but get the idea. Because of course, this morning I had the. most. brilliant. idea. for. a short. story. ever.
I won’t do it, though. Not this time. I’m going to hop into the trenches with my characters head-first. I’m going to make her an active participant and up the stakes and [insert corny writing phrase here from every single book on writing ever]. I’m going to finish this goddamn novel if it’s the last thing I do.
I really, really am. Starting tomorrow. Right now I’m a little hungry and it’s breakfast time and I’ve got a few episodes of ‘This American Life’ to catch up on.
Sunday afternoon activity: wild rice gratin with chard, caramelized onions, and baby swiss via @thesmitten.
1. Blow into class ten minutes late looking like a drowned rat after getting stuck in a rainstorm.
2. Not do the homework because you worked “100,000 hours the week before.” When no one laughs at your bad “joke” if that’s what you want to call it, awkwardly say, “you hear me?” (Note: the person right after you will present color-coded homework that looks like it should be framed, thus making you look like an even worse student.)
3. Make sure your voice cracks during the two questions you ask.
4. Leave class early by announcing that you’re going to the Gillian Flynn event at Town Hall and then follow that up by saying that the event is sold out but that maybe they (none of whom seem to know who Gillian Flynn is, which makes sense given that everyone is writing a fantasy novel save for me) could get tickets “next time.”
I’ll try better next time, classmates. I really will.
Seattle Sunday. #discoverypark