The Stories We Tell About The People We’ve Left Behind

Content Warning for non-specific discussions of trauma and abuse.

One of the many lessons I’ve learned about writing over the years is that, if I’m writing about something that happened, about real people, I need to focus on writing about only my experience of the event. I’ve had a few disastrous attempts in the past, where I’ve written about how I’ve noticed someone acting and tried to put to words the feel of what they told me. I don’t think I’ve ever done it in a way that didn’t feel immediately embarrassing. It can be a fine line, the space between the two concepts, but it is easy to write about how I felt listening to someone talk or the part I played in a difficult time in someone else’s life. It is much more difficult to write about what they went through from a first-person perspective. As I’ve slowly worked at writing outside my direct experience, at learning to portray events and feelings I never encountered (frequently with much input from people willing to share their experiences with me, knowing I’m trying to write about something similar), I’ve paid special attention to all the high-profile instances of people basically stealing the life stories of others.

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Hi, Chris Can’t Come To The Blog Right Now

They’re busy spending some, most, or all of today playing the new Splatoon 3 so they can make a splash with their friends. Right now, they could be busy playing through the story, looking up plot summaries on fan wikis, watching cutscenes on YouTube, or just embracing the confusion as the story-mode plot references details and events they know nothing about. They could also be busy with player-versus-player content, competing for clout or whatever other currencies exist in the game so they can purchase cool gear, better weapons, and whatever else there is to purchase in this game they deliberately didn’t research ahead of time. Embracing confusion and keeping expectations low at the outset of a new gaming experience can be beneficial to having a good time, after all.

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My Place Beneath An Infinite Sky

I am a child. The world has become huge, but pieces of it still feel small and like they can belong to me in a way they can’t belong to anyone else. I am past all the illusions of youth, but I’ve learned to lie well enough to fool even myself when the need arises. Tonight, a night when everyone else is busy settling in to the cabin my parents have rented, I am left to my own devices. My parents are so busy with my youngest sibling that they don’t even notice me leave. Their usual hail of admonitions is absent as they talk about the next two weeks and the schedule we are all to stick to. Tonight, though, I have no schedule, excellent fire-making skills, an enormous pile of wood beside the bonfire pit, and a cloudless evening sky that I’ve been told will soon be filled with more stars than I have ever seen in my life.

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The Most Holy Rituals of a Morning

Gather your sacred chalice, full to the brim with the holy water of your particular faith, and prepare yourself for a review of the sacrosanct traditions that power modern life. We might all worship at different altars, we might all give praise in different ways, we might all observe our rituals at different times, and we might even argue over the proper preparation of the self, but we all participate in the glorious act known as the Morning Routine and I am here to share with you the most holy rituals of my day-to-day.

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