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Talking, teaching, documenting. Using mobile tools, consulting & running workshops on digital storytelling..
There is mystery in her gaze. I never know what she’s thinking. She’s two and a half going on thirteen. Funny, curious, chatty.
I have no recollection of that age. I once saw some over saturated cine film, shot on a Welsh farm. Dungarees peeled down, I was peeing on a beehive.
My first memory resides six months later at three years old.
There are few witnesses left to tell me about that time.
My daughter will to be able to look back at a trail of digital breadcrumbs. Audio, video, photos, text. She’ll certainly get a glimpse of who she was. But there will always be mystery.
Advice? I don’t have advice. Stop aspiring and start writing. If you’re writing, you’re a writer.
Write like you’re a goddamn death row inmate and the governor is out of the country and there’s no chance for a pardon.
Write like you’re clinging to the edge of a cliff, white knuckles, on your last breath, and you’ve got just one last thing to say.
Write like you’re a bird flying over us & can see everything, & please, for God’s sake, tell us something that will save us from ourselves.
Take a deep breath and tell us your deepest, darkest secret, so we can wipe our brow and know that we’re not alone.
Write like you have a message from the king. Or don’t. Who knows, maybe you’re one of the lucky ones who doesn’t have to.