Confession of a Slighted Author
I saw all that blank space the first time and went, “Where the hell are the rest of my words?”
I saw all that blank space the first time and went, “Where the hell are the rest of my words?”
“Baba, you can’t be doing that.”
Planning for the future has never been a strength of mine, nor has imagining a future for myself.
It engages with a central human issue—invisibility and erasure—on personal, familial, and systemic levels.
I feel the in-person lived reality of the bystander effect, to which I’ve always told myself I would be the exception.
Did I do research for this? No. That sounds expensive.
My grandma ended every voicemail with “thank you, bye now.”
“Sponsoring” is when you buy a lot of something from one brand, right?
How many times can we say “this isn’t who we are” before we realize that, unless something changes, yes, this is exactly who we are?
We amble down to the beach as a herd, arms piled high with blankets and plastic cups and wine and our books.