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Category: Spring

The worm

I wrote this post a few days ago but when I reread it it felt a bit dramatic and self-serving so I didn’t want to post it. I don’t know why reading it is better but it is…...

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Talking in the past tense

“The writing prompt is: it’s raining you are not at home. Go!” We were sitting in deep shade in a leafy garden in Saxonwold at the first meeting of a local writers group that I’d attended. Without thinking I began to write about the first thing that popped into my brain.

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What would you attempt if you knew you would fail?

I wonder what it must take to wake up each day knowing that the odds are against you. That you will fail. And fail in a way where lives will be lost? What must it be like to spend your days with people who are in pain? Who are scared? Who are at their worst? Who are filled with the anguish and anger and blame of facing their mortality? What must it be like to know all this and to do the job anyway?

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