Loki enjoying a bully stick in his gigantic new bed.
1) I’ve written a guest blogpost for Hatch*, a new blog about religion, big questions, and the like. My post is personal and ranty; it’s very Millennial of me.
2) Reddit, known for harsh judgments and countless photos of adorable cats, has my first book’s first chapter in its capable, collective hands. Someone posted one critique already; I’m so grateful for the compliment sandwich, and the critical stuff in-between was more helpful than harsh. Bring it on! [Insert metallurgy metaphor here.]
3) Last week, I began a 500 words per week goal for my new adventures in fiction writing–and I exceeded it by a whopping 99 words! It’s such a minor mission, but if I can stick to it, I will have proven to myself that I can increase the difficulty level from Super Easy to Very Easy. Any easy is hard until I make a habit of it.
Since this blog reflects my day-to-day preoccupations (so far, our awesome puppy, being creatively adrift, and, um, a basil plant?), it feels appropriate to write about a Tarot card reading I did for myself a few days ago. I’m still mulling it over.
I read Tarot cards like I read movies, TV shows, plays, and conversations I overhear in coffee shops: not in any particularly mystical manner, but knowing full-heartedly that I can learn something from anything, that there’s something useful in having narrative art laid before you. Beyond being entertained, if you want to, you can become a semi-reflective surface when you face it. (Yeah, very reverse-mimesis, you Aristotle fans.) If I look at how I react to characters or situations (find myself identifying with a character or person, for example) and have some semblance of self-awareness, I can learn just a bit more about myself by mulling over why I’m having a certain reaction. What features am I reflecting, what angles am I taking? It’s sort of like tossing a coin to make a decision, except you use your reaction to the random chance (No! Why wasn’t it tails?) to choose what you’ll actually do.