Category Archives: wage slavery

On the March

After the Women’s March, Women are Still Marching On

mandela

Some say the WOMEN’S MARCH, which took place world-wide the day after Trump’s inauguration, marked a global transition in the consciousness of women and in the men who love and respect women. The Spirit of Standing Rock woke many to this new consciousness, to the realization that  love, peace, and compassion are more powerful revolutionary forces than hatred, fear, and violence.

On the day of the march, women donned their pink pussy hats and owned those disparagingly sexist labels of “pussy” and “nasty woman” with pride. Our march was remarkable not only because of its historic numbers, but also because everyone that day, even the police, honored the Divine Feminine with beauty, grace, humor, peace and love.

But the Divine Feminine is not only a spirit of love, peace and beauty. She is Great Destroyer as well as Mother Creator. Sisters, now is the time to get in touch with all the power of our Divine Feminine. Wipe that pink juicy pussy couture off your face, slip on your warrior armor and rise. Treasonous Trump and his cronies must be stopped before they destroy all that is good, beautiful, innocent and sacred of Mother Earth and her children. Beyoncé said it, right?

Okay Ladies, now let’s get in Formation. Prove to me you got some coordination. Go hard. Go hard. . . I slay. We slay. Slay, Chick, or you get eliminated. ”

We cannot be emancipated by someone else. We must emancipate ourselves, to be truly free and equal. 

Are you WOKE yet? Can you hear me now? Connect the dots: The Women’s Movement, Standing Rock, Black Lives Matter, Sustainability, Climate Change, Banking and Capitalism, Marketing, .  .  .   It’s all connected.

Have you seen that viral Pepsi ad? http://www.vanityfair.com/…/kendall-jenner-pepsi-ad Pepsi trying to co-opt the #BlackLivesMatter movement in order to sell soft drinks. That’s evil. But corporations using marketing to co-opt liberation and justice movements is nothing new.

I think women-hating misogyny in America runs even deeper, and is older, and more virulent than racism. Around a hundred years ago Edward Bernays, Father of Modern Marketing, figured out how to promote the TOBACCO industry by using the Suffragettes (Yes, R.J. Reynolds used those women who risked their very lives to win women’s right to vote, after they’d already helped to win the Black vote – big tobacco used those women’s equal rights campaign to sell cigarettes. )

These marketing corporations have been sticking it to us ever since Bernays figured out how to manipulate us through fear, lust and greed. But not a lot of people paid attention.

Check it out: Have you noticed the way the big department stores are currently selling torn blue jeans for over $100 a pair? Yes, you and your daughter can join the proletariat and sacrifice and struggle to make the world a better place, so poor you can’t afford new blue jeans, or you can pay a lot of $$$ to just look cool – like a radical protestor – in your ripped designer  jeans.

How did this happen? Watch the amazing four-part documentary The Century of Self to understand how corporate capitalism is co-opting our authentic grass-roots movements and manipulating We the Consumers. Wait. We are NOT Consumers. WE are Citizens, and PEOPLE. We are Human. Not slaves born to lift the machine’s GDP. The Century of Self : https://youtu.be/eJ3RzGoQC4s

Here’s the Pepsi ad with hilarious commentary by Stephen Colbert. Be sure to scroll all the way down and watch Seth Meyers’ alternative ending to the ad (it’s sick). http://www.vanityfair.com/…/kendall-jenner-pepsi-ad-stephen…

Stephen Colbert Rips Kendall Jenner’s Ill-Conceived Pepsi Ad
“Luckily, Ms. Jenner, a wealthy young white woman, knows exactly how to handle police at a protest.   vanityfair.com

Until we are all free, none of us will be.

So who’s #45 GOT BY THE PUSSY now? Besides poor zombie Stepford Wife Melania, he’s got  Congressional Representatives Liz Cheney, R-Wyoming and Virginia Foxx, R-North Carolina selling out to SERVE the Master. These token women were photo op’ed at the signing of a Trump executive order rolling back hard-fought victories for women in the workplace.

Trump’s order revokes the 2014 Fair Pay and Safe Workplaces legislation that protected women from sexual harassment in the workplace and guaranteed fair payroll practices. http://www.nbcnews.com/…/trump-pulls-back-obama-era-protect…

How did #45 get Liz and Gini to go along with screwing the women of this country? Maybe we should grab him by the balls and ask him. Snip snip.

170403-donald-trump-mn-1100_1f88b65e117f7acd35ad9b855b36d8eb-nbcnews-ux-2880-1000

And now, Arch-misogynist #periods-for-PENCE and the Republicans have forced the HobbyLobby anti-contraception  Supreme Court nominee Mr. Gorsuch through, with Mitch McConnell’s democracy-destroying “nuclear option” clearing the way for repeal of Roe v. Wade and a future for American women resembling the cultural/socio/political-economic landscape of The Handmaid’s Tale.

By the way, if you haven’t yet read Margaret Atwood’s The Handmaid’s Tale, now would be a good time, because we are no doubt in for some sci fi horror playing out in our real lives very soon. Read author Margaret Attwood’s recent illuminating and chilling INTERVIEW in the New York Times for more on this.

If you’re not in the mood to read, you may want to watch the new HULU original series based on the book, season premier April 26, 2017.

handmaid4RESIST!

Come on, Ladies. Let’s get in Formation. Time to March. We’re going to the Tax March. Going to the  People’s March for Science. Going to the Citizens Climate March.

We going to March for Liberty and Justice for All.

Join your local INDIVISIBLE group to find out about the next march, the next action, the next letter or phone call you need to make. DOWNLOAD THE INDIVISIBLE GUIDE. Subscribe to Andrew’s Actions.

Slay, Chick (Pussy), Slay. or you gonna get eliminated.

“If you want a picture of the future, imagine a boot stamping on a human face—for ever.”
George Orwell, 1984 

RESIST!  “Being in a minority, even in a minority of one, did not make you mad. There was truth and there was untruth, and if you clung to the truth even against the whole world, you were not mad.”
George Orwell, 1984

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Gaining Perspective: “From a Distance, You Look Like My Friend”

earthI’m Stepping back, to gain a little perspective.
Please l
isten with me to “From a Distance”. (audio file)
(Seriously, I mean really CLICK on the audio link above and listen to the song while you read)
Breathe.

Shortly after the election, gasping for air, feeling as if I were turning to stone like the woman at Standing Rock, I flew to the Yucatan. In the air, I wrote a blog post on my iPad, which I never posted. Events over the last two months have paralyzed my writing muscles. I’ve spent hours emailing and phoning senators, going to meetings to defend our tenuous anti-fracking victory from Chevron /Exxon, and meeting with newly-formed resistance groups like Indivisible; tweeting, facebooking, watching Democracy Now and Thom Hartmann, and staying up ’til 2 and 3 in the morning, sifting through fake news in search of the truth.

Last week, on that day that Betsy deVos’ nomination for Secretary of Education was confirmed despite massive protests, on the same day that the Army Corps of Engineers announced it was going ahead and building the pipeline under the river, in defiance of  orders to wait until a proper Environmental Assessment could be completed, on that day – I hit bottom. Something broke inside me. Hope still wakes me each morning, but it’s a dim light.

Here’s what I wrote in the air, raw, rambling, unedited. Forgive me. I’m still in shock  ~ clouds through airplane window

November 11, 2016. I’m in the air, flying to Mexico in the hope of gaining a fresh perspective. It’s been three days since the coup d’état in the USA. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton won the popular vote for President of the United States, but Trump stole the election with gerrymandered electoral votes, rigged voting machines, suppression of voters, hate, fear, and lies.

On election night, my partner Joe went without me to a celebration of our Measure Z fracking ban victory in Monterey County – an initiative we worked hard to help win. I couldn’t bear the thought of being out with a crowd, so I stayed home alone to watch election returns on TV. When Hillary phoned Trump at about 2 am to concede, I couldn’t believe it. Numbness. Disbelief. Anger. Rage. Grief. Fear. Exhaustion. Depression. The impulse to run. To leave. To save myself, distance myself from the apocalypse that I fear Trump is going to bring on.

For the first two days after the Trump election announcement, I spent toxic hours on Facebook and Twitter, my mind running in circles like the little hamster on the treadmill in its cage.  I vented my growing outrage by writing inflammatory posts with bad words. I tweeted attacks on Trump’s stupider-than-a-slug, slutty nude girly mag illegal immigrant plagiarist wife, and on the dumber-than-red-bricks voters who chose an “it’s-okay-to-‘grab-my-pussy’-if-you-buy-me-lots-of-things” virtual illiterate as our national role model for girls and women, instead of the highly intelligent, professional, qualified and capable, gracious Hillary Clinton. I felt sick as I watched the announcement of Hillary’s concession on TV and then watched the mainstream news pundits and so-called leaders of the democratic party begin to spin the theft of my country with sugar coated assurances that it is “such a surprise” but “we’ll just have to make the best of it. Everything will be alright.” “No!” I shouted out loud, startling my sleeping dogs. “This is a mistake! Stop this!”

Since election night, scenes from the movie, The Pianist have been playing over and over in my mind. If you haven’t seen the film, I recommend that you watch it now. In the film, Hitler has just seized power, and nice middle class families try to sugarcoat it, to continue with business as usual, try to “make the best of things” because “it can’t get that bad”. But it does. It gets worse and worse, and nice people continue to make compromises with their ideals, make excuses and look the other way. Until it’s too late. Until what is left of the family is sitting on crates in front of the train ready to take them to the gas chambers. They could have saved themselves by getting out of the country when the first signals sounded. (Or by organizing and mounting a strong resistance?)

I’m thinking that things in the US may get that bad, that it may be time to leave my country, while borders are still open and American citizens are not yet in concentration camps. My family immigrated to what is now Maryland in the late 1500’s, before Maryland was designated a colony. My people have been here ever since. Over 400 years. I am a patriot. (and I am an Immigrant) The men in my family served America as soldiers in every war since the Revolution. I have Native American blood in my veins. THIS IS MY COUNTRY. But I keep thinking about how so many Jews didn’t try to save themselves when Hitler moved in. Trump is going to be worse than Hitler, I’m pretty sure. I love my country. What if I have to leave?

He has said he thinks it would be fine to use nuclear weapons against other countries. I remember the Cold War. Now nuclear holocaust has suddenly become a very real possibility, again. The Russians, recently our arch enemies, may have actually helped to get Trump elected.

He doesn’t think climate change is real so he plans to withdraw from the Paris Climate Agreement and go full steam ahead developing coal, oil, gas, fracking and pipelines. He has said he plans to close down the EPA and the National Parks and overturn the Clean Air and Clean Water Acts. And he plans to encourage all manner of “pussy grabbing” while taking full control over women’s bodies. And he wants to start rounding up all his enemies, including Muslims, African and Mexican Americans, gays, immigrants (except for his law-breaking immigrant wife), and dissidents (teachers, scholars, artists, scientists). He intends to greatly increase funding for the military and use the military against American citizens, and he’s promised to authorize forms of torture worse than water boarding. “I can’t breathe.”

Inspired by their leader, Trump neo-fascist thugs around the country have already started perpetrating acts of violence against everyone they perceive as different.Heil Hitler.

Where can I go? Somewhere the people are still relatively civilized. Somewhere I may be able to survive financially after the US currency collapses. Someplace where the effects of a nuclear holocaust will be less. Someplace where it may still be possible to find potable water and grow food after the final climate apocalypse. Tasmania? Chile? Norway? Apparently I’m not the only one thinking these things.The Canadian government’s Immigration website crashed the night of the election and has crashed several times since. Sales of Orwell’s 1984 are soaring.

Today, day three since the death sentence of my country, the tone of the social media chatter has shifted. Courageous leaders are stepping into the light on social media. Bernie Sanders, Elizabeth Warren, 350.org’s Bill McKibben, and the Sierra Club have openly defied Trump.Put him on notice that this will be a battle of epic magnitude, a struggle the likes of which has never been seen before – a war for the very survival of life on Earth. Progressive leaders are calling for people to take courage, resist, and mobilize. I feel heartened that there will be an active resistance. But I’m afraid, too. Afraid for the beautiful Native Americans trying to protect our nation’s water at Standing Rock and afraid for the crowds of citizens demonstrating in the streets against a Trump presidency. Afraid for all my beautiful fellow humans with different colors of skin, different ways of worshiping, different ways of speaking.

Trump is a pathological abuser. Abusers don’t stop; they always escalate. ABUSERS ALWAYS ESCALATE. Thinking, hoping, praying that it will get better never makes it better when an abuser is in control of your life. The only thing that will stop an abuser from hurting you is when someone more powerful than him makes him stop.

I still think I might run away, before the borders close and it’s too late. But hopefully someone with the power to stop Trump from ending the world will stay and fight. I’ll do all I can to help, from a distance.

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General Strike Called Nationwide for January 20th Inauguration Day

 
Boxes of sugar cubes bearing the image of US President-elect Donald Trump on sale at a supermarket in Tula, Russia. (Photo by Sergei StarikovTASS via Getty Images)

Boxes of sugar cubes bearing the image of US President-elect Donald Trump on sale at a supermarket in Tula, Russia. (Photo by Sergei StarikovTASS via Getty Image

“On the Day of Trump’s Election, spontaneous protests broke out across the United States. People saw the danger represented in Trump’s politics and refused to comply with business as usual. Out of those protests, a nationwide call has gone out for a General Strike on the day of the Presidential Inauguration, January 20th.” the following article was posted by the Santa Cruz General Strike Organizing Committee.

What is a General Strike? Why a General Strike?

A General Strike is a political action in which the general population refuses to engage in work, they close the doors to their workplaces and their schools. Born out of early 20th century labor movements, we can thank General Strikes for the 8 hour workday, minimum wage, and the weekend, among other accomplishments.
 
The General Strike is one of the strongest political tools that the people have at our disposal. General Strikes have the power to force governments to their knees. Just in these past few months: a General Strike forced the South Korean President to resign, a General Strike forced the Polish government to roll back restrictive anti-choice legislation.
 
Our political system only offers limited input for ordinary people in the form of voting and lobbying our “elected representatives.” When it fails the people, we have little recourse to act within the system. A General Strike has the power to bring the system to a halt, to force those in power to hear the people.
 
In addition to the disruptive power of the General Strike, it is also a demonstration of solidarity. Trump won an election based on hate and fear. We seek to overcome that hate and fear with mutual respect and love. With Solidarity. By joining together in the General Strike we show that we are able to overcome a politics based on individualistic difference. We will stand together and defend each other in the face of misogynistic and racist attacks, cuts to social services, environmental catastrophe, and impoverishment.
 
Instead of being forced to rely on a broken system that only offers false choices between hatred and corruption, by striking we show that we are ready and able to build a new order. One that is not based on hate, fear, and profit, one that is built on solidarity, mutual-aid, and respect. When we do not work, when we do not go to school, when we do not allow business as usual, we show that we will not allow politics as usual to rule us. We will not allow a racist, misogynistic billionaire to rule us.
 
It is important to not normalize Donald Trump’s governance. A first step to building a meaningful opposition to his rule is to make sure the day is not a normal work day. We have no illusions that not going to work on January 20th is going to bring down the Trump administration and systems of oppression in a single day. But striking together is the first step towards building the meaningful solidarities and organization that will allow us to actually oppose and survive his administration.
The election of Trump was a Coup D’Etat by the Russians. Sufficient evidence is available to the public to support this. Why? The Russians have far greater oil reserves than any other country, and they can’t sell it because of US sanctions. The Russian Trump puppet  will lift those sanctions and set a course for massive exploitation, production  and profit-taking by the billionaires’ multinational fossil fuel industry.
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Rough Cut: The Shipper/Packer/Cooler Industry and the Brown Berets

Rough Cuts: {Watsonville Brown Berets, a snippet from back in the day. This is a true story.}

Sunday morning, August 28, 1998.
Prudenciana Elementary School. Watsonville.

Aurora opened the door to the computer lab. Jose Santos, the new technology assistant, was down on his hands and knees under a shelf of colorful new iMacs, working with a tangle of cables. Aurora smiled at the slender young man with a black moustache. They made a good choice in hiring him. He’d been doing very well as a computer technician, even though he was inexperienced.

“Hey, Jose. Thanks for being willing to meet me here on a Sunday morning. How’s it going?”

“Good. We should have all the software installed, and the computers networked to the new printer by the time we go home today, but we’ll still need an adapter for the overhead projector, and we should have some of those rubber floor covers to put all these wires under, so they aren’t a tripping hazard.”

“Give me a list. I can pick that stuff up. Can I give you a hand with networking the printers?”

Aurora dove under the bank of computers, and Jose oriented her as to what he was doing. “You’ve really learned all this technology stuff fast,” she said.

“Yeah. I’m taking a full load of tech classes at the community college, going for the Cisco networking certification.”

“Brilliant move. I’ll bet networking will be huge in the future.”

Jose sat back on his heels. “That does it. Now, we should test them all.”

Jose and Aurora each took a chair in front of an iMac and turned on a computer.

Aurora navigated to Preferences, selected the new printer, restarted the computer, then opened the word processing app to test the printer connection.

“Where are you from originally, Jose?” Aurora asked while she waited for the app to open. “Did you grow up here in Watsonville?”

“I’m from Mexico. A small village outside of Guadalajara.”

“Your English is excellent. You must have been in the States for a long time.”

“No. I came to California about five years ago.”

“Have you been going to school since you got here?

“No. Working. When I first arrived, I got a job in a packinghouse, here in Watsonville. With Strawberry Bay Berry.”

“What was that like?”

“A nightmare, to tell you the truth.”

The printer came to life, rattling out the test page Jose had just sent. He turned off the computer and moved to the next one on the row against the wall.

“Nightmare? Why?” Aurora moved to the next computer in her row and pushed the on button, enjoying the ta-da sound the new iMac made when it powered up.

“I worked at a conveyor belt that moved fruit to the coolers. We were supposed to inspect for rotten and damaged fruits and pull them off, but the belt moved too fast. We also had to quickly slide a new box under the end of the belt where the fruit fell off, whenever a box was full, without letting any fruit fall on the cement floor. The shifts were ungodly long. No bathroom breaks. By the end of the day, my feet, hands, back, and head hurt, and I could hardly see straight. It was always way too hot or freezing cold. Standing all day on the cement floor just sucked the energy out of your body. You really had to pay attention, to do everything right. Somebody watched us all the time. The foreman came from my home village in Mexico. He knew my parents, and grandparents. My family had obligations to him, and I owed him for helping me get into the States and getting me my job. The man was merciless, kind of a Godfather type.”

“That does sound like a nightmare. But you got out. And now you’re at Cabrillo College and you have this job. Those are huge accomplishments.”

“Yeah. It’s because I started going to meetings of this group, the Brown Berets.” Jose said “Brown Berets” in a whisper, looking over his shoulder.

“Who are they?” asked Aurora.

“A Chicano activist group founded by a radical Episcopal priest in East LA in the late sixties, during the Black and Brown liberation movements, to help young Chicanos develop their political skills. The group decided to wear brown berets as a symbol of unity and resistance against oppression.”

Aurora moved to another computer. Ta-dah. “I’ve been teaching in Watsonville for years, and I’ve never heard of the Brown Berets.”

“The organization kind of died out after the sixties. But in ninety-four, a group of students from Watsonville decided to resurrect it. The gang-related murders of two young people had a lot to do with it. We were just a group of young Chicanos and Chicanas, tired of injustices in the community and the lack of political representation. So we decided to educate ourselves, and take the power of self-determination in our own hands.”

Jose hit the print button and the next test page spun out.

“We couldn’t have done it without our mentors, a high school counselor named Alba and this Ohlone Catholic priest we call El Gecko. It’s a real spiritual group. El Gecko helps us get in touch with our indigenous power, and teaches us the Old Ways.”

Aurora’s heart skipped at the mention of the priest. She started the next computer. Ta dah. She was not surprised to learn that Father Francis was involved in such work.

“So the Brown Berets is a peace keeping group?” Aurora asked as the printer rattled out the next test page.

“A peace building and educational organization. We recognize that Mother Earth has no borders and belongs to all of earth’s creatures. With all our diversity, we’re still all family. We should respect, not exploit and oppress one another. At our meetings, Norteños and Sureños actually meet together, cross the line, and find their brotherhood. There’s no hating. We figure out how to work together for the betterment of our community. To address gang violence, we organized an annual march that passes through all the different barrios in Watsonville, to bring the message of Peace and Unity. We’re even working with the police, to build a positive relationship between police and minority youth.”

“So, what happened to you? How did the Brown Berets help you with your job at the packing plant?”

“Well, like I said, the Brown Berets educate. Through our Education Popular, I learned about the history of the farmworkers struggle in Watsonville. I learned that those packer-shipper-cooler corporations are at the top of the ladder. Strawberry Bay Berry is actually owned, through a venture capital front corporation, by BioGenesis Agrochemical Corporation. Heard of them?”

“Oh, my God, yes,” said Aurora. “I’ve heard that their people go into the rainforest, get indigenous people to show them their traditional medicinal plants, take the plants back to the US and patent them, then tell the native people they can’t use their own plants anymore unless they pay BioGen. And the U.S. government is backing up the corporate theft. And I’ve heard they’re developing genetically modified seeds that have pesticides in their DNA, and they’re suing small family farmers all over the world who save their organic seeds in the traditional way, bankrupting them with legal fees and then seizing their farms.”

“It’s all true.” Jose started up the next computer. “And here, in the Pajaro Valley, the big shipper-cooler companies, with BioGen pulling their strings, tell the growers what to grow, when and how much. They have a huge amount of power. But guess what? I found out I have power, too. I learned that in the USA, workers have rights.”

“Yes, we do. So what happened?”

“One day, a friend of mine was operating a fork lift in a cold storage warehouse. I was there in the warehouse when he was fork lifting some heavy crates onto a high shelf. One of the crates got stuck on the lift. The foreman ordered my friend to climb up and move the crate by hand, so my friend climbed up there and pushed the crate. But when it came unstuck, it released the forklift, which bounced up and knocked him off the shelf. He fell more than fifteen feet down to the cement floor. Landed on his back. Blood pouring out of his nose, and ears. I thought he might be dead. But he opened his eyes, and ­– you know what? – the foreman told him to go home. Told him, if he went to a doctor or told anyone what happened, he might as well not come back to work.”

“That’s horrible. Inhumane. And it’s against the law.”

“Right. But keep in mind that most of these workers have no clue about American labor law. After seeing that, something just snapped inside me. The foreman sent me back to my conveyor belt. When the box filled up, I just watched the fruit fall on the floor. My foreman started yelling at me, but I didn’t care. I just stood there, watching the fruit pile up and roll all over the place. Finally, someone shut off the conveyor belt. I walked away, and never looked back. I went to the Brown Berets. Señor Alba and El Gecko helped me get into Cabrillo Community College and helped me get this job. To me, both those men are like saints. I know a lot of people they’ve helped, besides me.”

“Were there repercussions, when you walked off the job?”

“Oh, yeah. I never got my last paycheck. Some of my family in Mexico is still ticked off at me. And I definitely burned my bridges with that foreman. I’ll never work in the packing industry again. Not that I ever want to go back there anyway. I’m just lucky no one came after me. You know – to beat me up, or kill me.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. As a matter of fact, I – ah, I’ve been wanting to talk to you about this. I’ve heard that you teachers are asking questions about the pesticides. Be careful, okay? I mean it. The people behind the strawberry industry in this town don’t like to be messed with. There’s history here, going back to before Cesar Chavez. They’re dangerous. Seriously, Aurora. Watch your back.”

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Wage Slave

“Ring the bell that you can ring
forget your perfect offering
there is a crack in everything
that’s how the light gets in”
–    Anthem by Leonard Cohen

I worked on writing my story every day for three years, from 2010 to 2013. Then, last Fall, I took a full time teaching job with a “virtual academy”. This year has been agony. I feel like I gave birth and then left my infant in a trash can in some back alley to go make money whoring myself. I was a slave in my own kitchen this year, chained to the laptop at the kitchen table, where I was required to spend many hours a day (sometimes from 7 am to 2 am) filling out redundant excel and google doc spreadsheets documenting my student contacts. Little of my time was actually spent in contact with students. This is the corporate version of “charter school” education, now being funded by public educational monies. All the while I worked at those spreadsheets, I felt like my soul was bleeding out of my body. Maya Angelou wrote, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside of you.” I am sick inside my skin. Itching under my flesh to hold my book in my hands, to feel others read it, and love it. I need to see my novel alive, breathing and walking on its own, out in the world.

My teaching contract ended June 13th, and I did not seek to renew it. I feel both relief and anxiety. I think without the money I earned (less than a beginning teacher’s salary), I’d be floundering financially at this point. So, without it, going forward? Will I be able to live with less, live more simply, learning to thrive in the evolving non-growth economy, the transitional economy – with more time to freely explore my creativity, my passions, my life, but less money to finance my existence, and the bringing forth of my novel?

“Nothing is harder than being a true novelist unless that is all one wants to be. In which case, although being a true novelist is hard, everything else is harder.”  John Gartner

 

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