A vague feeling of dread makes me turn my attention to commiserating, as if blaming society will help me climb the financial ladder. It could also be that I live in a college town, where there are more degrees than jobs available.

As I scan the job listings each day, I find that the market holds either extremely lucrative jobs that require more experience or menial, physical-labor jobs that are more suited to a time when I was earning my degree, not after having taken possession of it. It’s hard to be excited for the future—a home to call our own, a garage we can both work in and no neighbors to share the most intimate experiences with—when you can’t make more than $30,000 a year.

About a year ago, I stumbled upon Gary Vaynerchuk, a man who has made quite a name for himself on social media, and found some hope. While we don’t share too much beyond the fact that we love to create, I picked up Vaynerchuk’s book “Crushing It!” to see if I could glean any further wisdom. I learned that Gary V. took a company that was doing rather well and seized upon every opportunity he could to build it into the $60 million business it is today. You’ve got to respect a guy that has accomplished that much.

I’ve realized that, as he states, we are in the age of a digital revolution. Having a presence on social media has changed in our society—it has replaced the old ways of obtaining a job and getting your foot in the door. (I’ve personally avoided sites like Facebook altogether because my family seems to drum up enough drama the way it is. Call it personal preference, but I never saw the value in social media.)

My eyes have now focused upon a new facet of social media: LinkedIn and Instagram. Those are two platforms most businesses ought to invest in. Gary V. talks a lot about the benefits of being on those social media platforms  but the true value that lies in his book “Crushing It!” comes from the emphasis on being an entrepreneur.

“Personal branding” is a hot phrase in these times, and critical to making it in the digital world. Just take a look at the number of young people who’ve made their mark on YouTube. It is a profitable and sustainable business model to create and post YouTube videos. I repeat: it is profitable and sustainable to shoot video of yourself and your friends and post it online.

Isn’t that amazing?

This is exactly the stance Gary V. takes, and it’s one I’m excited to hear. I rely on the internet to grow my own on-the-side business of being a writer and editor, and to hear that someday I could potentially quit the menial job I work—one that rots my brain instead of enhances it—and make it big doing what I love . . . it’s like hearing that you can take a vacation, and yes, pick anywhere and the whole trip is free.

An immense feeling of joy rises up and the ambition to achieve great things bubbles inside my nerves.

What really matters here is that we’re in a time of shift, a space where graduating from college and moving straight into the firm you interned for isn’t as common as it used to be. Employees don’t commit to spending two decades of their life in one career. Turn-over rates might be higher, sure, but people are finding out that having to put your head down and plow through the corporate minefield isn’t a requirement anymore. If you can find a good opportunity and work as hard as is humanly possible, those stacks of paperwork and corporate bum-kissing days are long gone.

Right now, I’m hardly making rent with my writing and editing, but someday, somehow, I’m going to support myself and my boyfriend on my ability to fill pages with swooping strokes of my pen and creative character-block landscaping. I advise you to check out Gary V.’s book the next time you’re in a bookstore or the library. To start, watch a few of his videos. The time of making yourself known online is now.

Here’s hoping I land myself a better job. I just might have to create my own space to do it.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post Who Do You Work For? appeared first on Newfound.

In May my boyfriend and I made the excruciating decision to put our cat, Tiger, to sleep. We made jokes about Star Wars but tears were falling from my eyes, dripping down upon quivering lips. On that Friday, it didn’t matter that I had two days off from work, or that the weekend proved to be sunny and bright. My world had dimmed.

Though his name had been Tigger during his stay at PetsMart, we removed a “g” from his name and gave him a sense of masculinity. To be honest, though, his sturdy build gave him enough cat cred that he didn’t want for much.

I think most animals end up choosing their favorites, no matter where they are. It just so happened, of course, that Tiger chose me as his human. He would lay on my bed rather than my sister’s and eventually, when I moved out to attend college, his little furry orange and white body followed me there too. My first apartment off campus didn’t allow pets, but as soon as one opened up across the street, in a pet-friendly zone, out came the cat carrier—and the curious meows as we drove to our new home together.

I worked a lot through college and yet I still had a smile in store at nearly midnight when I would trudge up the stairs to my apartment. Who would be sitting there peering through the door-length window but my little Squish? That of course was the (one of many) pet name I had come up with for him. Those golden eyes and twitching whiskers would stare up at me for moments before his form disappeared behind swinging blinds. Life’s problems seemed to fade as I cuddled with my furry little baby. I always felt a sense of love as I walked to the car in the morning and his twinkling eyes slowly closed behind the glass. It was a kitty goodbye wave if I ever saw one.

All of these thoughts and memories washed over me that Friday. The same apartment we had been living in was the only one he had escaped from for a short time. Intent on following after my boyfriend, I believed he had slipped out one night and couldn’t find his way back. It was the day I moved in, and one of the most horrible, sleepless nights of my life. He came back home the next day, but I have never cried so much in my life.

Until that Friday.

How do you look into a loved one’s eyes and tell them that this is the best thing for them, that you’re only thinking of their well-being? How do you know when it’s the right time, and that they approve?

I’ve never experienced loss of this kind before. I could hardly focus on my work, and driving home took every ounce of my concentration.

My boyfriend agreed to drive us to the vet that Friday afternoon, and if it weren’t for the knowing voice in my head, I’m pretty sure I would have had Tiger out of his kennel and on my lap. His small form seemed so tiny next to the memories of the burly cat that flooded my mind. Nights of waking up due to his weight upon my chest and tiny kitty paws in my stomach were ones I wanted to recall and live again. Tiny nose kisses and tickling whiskers—those were all things I missed more than ever in those final moments.

The back room at the vet was cozy, but expectations hung in the air as much as they would at a normal doctor’s office with hospital beds, medical equipment and sterilized floors. I focused upon the curious furry form in the carrier and tried to hold my emotions back. That floodgate would soon fail.

Perhaps it was the discussions we’d had, the empathy and compassion of the vet, or the simple fact that I knew I had to let go, but the decision itself was easier to make than I had imagined. It felt right in my heart.

Our final moments together are too precious and emotional for me to put down here, but I know in my heart that my Squish is up with all the little kitties in heaven, probably walking across angel chests and snuggling up to their porcelain legs. Fluent in German, I would often talk to him in rambling Deutsch, all loving words of course. “He’s going to teach those kitties up there some German,” I joked to my boyfriend. The glassiness in his eyes must have been mirrored in mine.

I still can’t get rid of the chair Squish used to sit in and I still see him around the house at times, but knowing he is no longer in pain is a comforting feeling, even as I miss the soft touch of his darting tail and the cold, wet tickle of his pink, one-freckled nose. So while I bawled my eyes out and hugged his tiny form to my chest, I knew that in this instance, I wasn’t so much saying goodbye as I was letting go. There’s a song that has been comforting to me in the month since. As the lyrics go, per my recall, “Come to teach us, then they leave us, to find some other soul to save.”

Here’s to Squish, my kleines Popo, Captain Shtinkpants. May God watch over you.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post All Souls Day: Putting a Beloved Pet to Rest appeared first on Newfound.

“Have you heard back from the artist on this one yet?”

My voice was pitched to sound detached, but I knew I couldn’t entirely hide the hope for a negative answer.

One look from me to the portrait was all it took. “Nope, and it’s been long enough I think you’re okay to take it.”

Her shrug clinched it for me. After all, she was the advisor of our group, so that was all the permission I needed.

Though that was more than three years ago, the picture still hangs on my wall. I never bothered framing it, because for some reason it didn’t seem like something you’d encase in wood and show off. It was more of a personal picture than that. You wouldn’t hang this up in your living room and tell people, “Oh yes, we were at such-and-such place and we saw it and just had to have it.”

I’m not one of those people. I’ve never had a room of mine decorated because when you move more often than you’d ever thought possible, why put down roots and claim a space as your own when you know that it’ll be soon enough that those same walls will be bare again, and your stuff will be packed up in boxes?

As I lay there the other night, waiting for my boyfriend to finish his before-bedtime ritual, I stared at the picture, thinking. It was one of those moments where you seem to turn your focus inward and upon all those thoughts tugging at the back of your eye sockets, and the outside world goes somewhere else until you’re jerked back to reality.

I was thinking the many thoughts I always seem to think when I’m trying to relax, when I realized that the picture had three girls in it, not two, as I had first and until that point observed.

Imagine my surprise when I noticed the orientation of the girls. Each face was pointed in a different direction. The main focus of the portrait is one girl in particular, who is staring out of the truck window towards the viewer, with a thoughtful expression on her face. On her left is another girl who is looking out her window, in the exact opposite direction of her fellow bench seat mate. Lo and behold, in between them both is a little girl who is looking forward. She is the one I missed all these years.

And now, thinking about it, it’s rather ironic. You see, my focus has always been upon the past and the future, because I dwell too much on both in equal fashion. I’ve told you about my inability to

Now I realize that there is a small girl looking forward—in the present—and perhaps a bit of destiny, too. A divine intervention saying, “Hey!”

I think I’m beginning to learn.

Looking back at the portrait now, I wish I would have read the artist’s statement. Were they trying to evoke the essence of time, as I interpreted it? At the same time, I think that’s the point of art—to inspire another just as the artist himself or herself was inspired.

For now, I’m still keeping the picture and it still hangs on my wall. I foresee we might be moving in the next year or so, but that’s still uncertain at this point. What I do know is that the picture will most likely come with us. In the event I don’t need it anymore, we’ll find a new home for it.

Strange, isn’t it? How one image can make a difference in our lives, no matter what the subject. What images inspire you? Which ones do you hold dear or hold messages that drive you forward?

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post One Portrait Over Time appeared first on Newfound.

Intrigued by her work, I wanted to find out more about her writing and personal journey. Catherine describes herself in the following way:

Originally from Springfield, Massachusetts, I attended Catholic school and earned degrees from Bennington College and New York University. I’m a failed au pair with teaching experience. The only male psychiatrist I’ve met with asked me if I aspired to be anything more than a secretary.

If I ever pay off my student loan debt, I’d like to move closer to the forest. 

On Thursday evenings, I take Japanese classes.

Rebecca Henderson: Why did you choose to write this piece in short sections, rather than a traditional long-form story? 

Catherine Pikula: The smartphone is a kind of phantom and complex character in the background of this piece. It provides connection to the absent lover and thus comfort, but it is also a source of anxiety as well as a means of searching for answers. I wanted the form to mimic the kind of disruptions that have become more common in every day interactions.

It’s a product of the instinct, “Wait, let me Google it,” and the nervous checking of one’s phone. The piece is also very self-reflective so while the section breaks mark associative leaps allowing the speaker’s mind to wander, I hope they also welcome the reader to interject and have a dialogue with the text.

Henderson: Did you write each short section individually and focus on one particular theme, or did you write a span of them?

Pikula: This piece first materialized as a diaristic purge over the span of a few weeks. What resulted was a tangled ball of anxiety from which I tried to cull what felt like the most cohesive and also necessary threads. (CA Conrad’s (soma)tic exercises come to mind as note-taking is utilized there as a means and not an end in itself—though I wouldn’t say my goal was to create an end but another means, if that makes sense.)

Shaping the piece took place over three years. Much of what fell away was the more poetic associations and sections that felt too musically, imagistically, or referentially self-indulgent that they began to stray too far from the main themes.

Henderson: What themes in the piece most resonate with you personally?

Pikula: All of it resonates. It is all me and also not me. It is me in flux.

On a macro level, the over-arching inquiry for me is: What does it mean to understand and exist in a grey area? In some way, all of the themes return to that inquiry and the image of the Venn-diagram.

There are a lot of dichotomies at work. To name a few: How does one define self in the face of the all-consuming loved other? What is healthy and self-destructive?  Right and wrong?  What is an orgasm during rape? What makes a “woman” a “woman” before a human? (I use quotes here to express unresolved discomfort.) And in what ways does language fail or succeed to offer a way out?

Henderson: Why did you choose to represent other characters with just capital letters, rather than full names?

Pikula: I should acknowledge that this is nonfiction. While it felt important to my version of truth-telling to preserve reality, I wanted to respect their privacy. Sure, people who are close to me will be able to identify some of the people but that is very much beside the point. I’m not interested in placing blame or casting judgement.

To the extent that it is possible or not, my intention was to aim toward the objective while using the subjective as the springboard.

Henderson: This piece discusses a lot of relevant topics on today’s social sphere. Did you hope to contribute to the discussion, or what was your intent with this piece?

Pikula: This goes back to existing in grey areas. How can one write about gender and sexuality in a way that is true to their experience but also inclusive? I don’t think I have the perfect answer to that, but I think it begins with respect, putting one’s ego aside, making room for others, welcoming critiques, offering critiques, recognizing faults and failures and trying to do better. My intent is to say we can communicate better, especially about things that are difficult to talk about.

Henderson: Love and sexuality certainly seem to be concepts the speaker has trouble defining and/or interpreting. Do you feel that as a society we need to have more open discussions about these ideas?

Pikula: Absolutely. Global media and art are teeming with examples of toxic love and these examples should be constantly examined, deconstructed, and built anew.

Sexuality is largely misunderstood, I think, like most things as something fixed. That’s not to say everyone is queer—though, that would be great!—but rather, even within heterosexuality there are elements of desire in flux.

I think our societal discussions should be better understood as dialectical in that there is all this history that has come before and the differing forces and opinions at work are not occurring within a bubble but within the dynamic global environment of which our actions, beliefs and words are all a part. And what’s more is that all of these elements are connected and changing—

Henderson: Is this piece part of a larger work? If not, do you think you’ll expand it?

Pikula: The piece fits thematically with a lot of poems I began around the same time and was a part of my thesis manuscript at NYU. While I can envision reworking the poems and including this longer piece into a full-length text, I am somewhat hesitant toward the necessity of expansion at this time—partly because I want to move on to other things.

Henderson: What projects are you working on right now? What can we expect to see from you in the future?

Pikula: I’m very much in a gestation period, reading widely, playing the sponge, taking notes. It’s daunting to begin new creative projects while working a full-time office job. I’d like to take a stab at sci-fi short stories or micro fiction as well as more formal essays on some of the themes here.

Henderson: Is there anything we didn’t talk about that you would like to mention? Any final words?

Pikula: I just want to express a lot of gratitude for all of the kinds of mothers, soon to be mothers, mothers that can’t biologically be mothers, mothers of every shape, size and color everywhere—as well as for acts of mothering.

You can find out more about Catherine Pikula on her website.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post “I’m fine, how are you?” An Interview with Prose Prize Winner, Catherine Pikula appeared first on Newfound.

Scurrying to catch up, I trudged after those brown cowboy boots. Eyes alight with what I would come to know as gold fever, my boyfriend’s excitement had grown that morning as we neared the river. Though we would stagger back up the path to the car a few hours later, his footsteps were quick as we made our way down to the bank. For a man who towered above me, he moved with a grace and ease I could only admire. Turning about in place, he looked at me expectantly.

“Here?”

Nodding, I hoped we had picked a good spot. Though we had visited the same creek bank only a week before, our efforts then weren’t very promising. This time, however, we were prepared. Scouting done, we were in it for real now.

As we unpacked our gear, my eyes darted around the surrounding landscape. Rough brush and untamed foliage ran rampant, but it was a stark backdrop against the busy highways just a few yards away. For every duck’s quack or goose’s honk, echoes of semi horns and burly exhaust notes drowned out their more natural competitors. The creek surely wasn’t the cleanest or clearest, but for our purposes, it would work.

My boyfriend unpacked the bucket of supplies he had carried in, removing a four-foot sluice that was six inches wide and flared at one end. Outdoor carpeting covered the last foot or so of the straight section, and was pinned down by a piece of steel grating. The diamond-shape openings nestled under a tray of horizontal bars that clamped everything in place. Next, he removed a tray-like contraption with a hose attached on top, as if the metal tray had a rather comical hat on. The hose would attach to a sump pump, which would bring water from the stream into the sluice.

After setting the sluice up and connecting the lawn mower batter, water began to rush down the sleek steel sluice, the horizontal bars creating manufactured riffles that would encourage gold to become trapped behind their sloping peaks. Now that we had everything set up, we just needed dirt.

A lot of it.

I had been instructed in the dynamics of the flowing river, and, not realizing physics played such a big role in prospecting, had soaked up as much of it as I could. As we toted the five-gallon bucket and mini shovel along, we picked out certain spots where the water flow dipped and slowed. Heavy gold pieces—flakes, really—would fall into the natural hollows and await our arrival. Theoretically, at least.

Bucket full, we picked our way across the rocks to where the sluice ran like a happy bubbly stream of its own. With a small green scoop, my boyfriend fed two handfuls’ worth of dirt into the sluice by dropping it on the center of the flared section. He watched intently as the dirt made its way through the sluice, smaller particles getting caught in the valleys of the riffles. With carefully measured changes—“caliper eyes,” as he boasted—my boyfriend adjusted the sluice until he achieved the right flow rate. Now all we had to do was feed it dirt.

As we scooped soil into the sluice, the anticipation grew. Would we find gold? Where was that big nugget, when would we strike rich? Eyes glued to the sluice’s length, my boyfriend carefully panned out the concentrates it produced.

Tiny pinpricks of gold in the stark green gold pan, the flakes winked at us like coy maidens. Though they weren’t the money-making golden nuggets we’d hoped for, it was still a sight to see. At one time, I had read stories about old-time miners, prospecting and searching for their fortunes. I had always pictured their beady eyes and scruffy beards peering into a pan like we were, but to experience the same thrill they probably had—that was more rewarding than any gold we could have found.

“One more pan?” My boyfriend’s pleading eyes tugged at my heartstrings. Smiling in spite of the fatigue in my leg muscles and the sun’s heat on my neck, I nodded and reached for the shovel. For me, it wasn’t the flakes we found or the money we made; it was the experience of searching for fortune, with the man I love, that truly made this a memorable experience. I had always admired his love for adventure and it was hard not to get caught up in his euphoria.

Panning done and concentrates in hand, we prospected for dinner next. Soon after, a soft bed invited our worn-out bodies to a restful night’s sleep. As I lay there on the pillow, I smiled to myself, dreams of returning and striking it rich lulling me to sleep.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post I am Prospector, Hear My Sluice Roar! appeared first on Newfound.

I have spent the last two months re-reading the first two books of the Stormlight Archive, the three-book (so far) series written by Brandon Sanderson that had me captivated from the first page. When the third book was published, I knew I had to buy it. I suppose it seems a bit silly, buying the third book of a series when you don’t already own the first two, but for someone who uses the public library more often than 2/3 of the population, waiting to get my hands on a copy seemed like torture.

While it was hard to let the book rest on my shelves until I finished re-reading the first two tomes, I knew that I had to get back into the story for the third book to be of any value. Interestingly enough, I found myself feeling as if I was reading the story for the first time, except for a few instances where I recalled the events. All the same, to have penned something that intrigues an audience even upon the second read is a feat in itself.

Brandon Sanderson is a master of worlds, a soothsayer to those who wish to steal away from this world of ours and escape to the impersonal—and yet strangely moving—conflicts of another. How is it that one can read a book where the characters and time are irrelevant to one’s own, and still find meaning and truth in those actions and words?

Is it possible that some things are eternally true and evident, even in fictional places?

I don’t feel as it most authors set out to teach the world a lesson or provide some sort of moral tale. I think the best authors, in the telling of their stories, do end up teaching us something, whether it’s about ourselves or the world around us. These morals aren’t the kind to be picked from the pages like a textbook lesson, but rather reach us via emotions and experience, even though we are technically living vicariously through fictional characters. Perhaps it is because the stories are removed from reality that we are able to connect with them on a deeper level. The blinders of our own realities seem to disappear.

As I read, I watched the right-hand side of pages shrink down, sometimes at a furious pace, other times page-by-page. In the end, I knew that after I’d read the last sentence, anxiously checked the last few pages for a hint, something that told me this series hadn’t ended, and closed the cover, I would only want more. Saying goodbye to those characters seemed like parting with a loved one.

At the same time, I want to share the experiences I had reading “Oathbringer,” because I know that anyone who has the time to read this series should. Start from the beginning, with “The Way of Kings,” but brace yourself for an addictive read that will keep you up into the night and have you shooing away your closest relatives as you pore over these pages.

To summarize this book, this series, seems a disservice to the intricate and incredibly complex weaving that takes place. However, there are a few memorable characters: Kaladin Stormblessed will draw out nearly every emotion you can experience with his harrowing tale. There are a few times, though, that you’ll consider his actions unwarranted or even downright wrong. I don’t think I’d consider him the (only) hero of this tale, but he is a hero nonetheless. Shallan, in many ways, felt to me to be Kaladin’s female counterpart, and her ability to cope and sketch impressed me, even as much as I found myself resonating with her situation.

Dalinar and Jasnah Kholin are two figures I had guessed would be the heroes of this tale, but they weren’t exactly heroes, at least in the way I thought they would be. Compared to them, there are a few other characters I thoroughly enjoyed seeing as they popped up in the narrative, and the subtle but striking commentary that peeks through at times is both hilarious and incredibly witty.

To say much more would have me writing pages and pages of summaries and explanations, and yet I could never summarize the vast network of plots and subplots that Sanderson develops over the course of the series. I can only recommend his work to each and every person who is looking for that next lovable set of characters.

Forget “Game of Thrones.” Move beyond the typical salacious tales that sate the masses. Find a series that seeks beyond this world, above the petty squabbles we dwell upon, to concepts that affect us all.

My desire to become a beta reader for this legendary author aside, I highly recommend Brandon Sanderson’s work. Read his Stormlight Archive series. It might take you weeks or months, but I urge you, read his books!

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post Your New Favorite Book: Brandon Sanderson’s “Oathbringer” appeared first on Newfound.

Matthew Pitt’s “These Are Our Demands” (Engine/Ferry Street Books, 2017) provides an answer. In one short story, Paul is a Polish “minute oracle,” and Maddy knows it. As his English tutor, she does her best to teach him the language, but of course there are always going to be certain things lost in translation. He knows she is pregnant, but does her man know she is carrying a baby boy?

Justine, Brad, and Coey are kidnapped, but is it all for show? They’ll need Imogene the psychic to help figure out the truth.

A man has been blinded with lye because he could not stay true to his wife, even on their wedding day. Truth be told, he isn’t the only one to suffer this fate. But does he know that?

The very last story is morbidly intriguing, as it describes a specific type of taxidermist. Is she trying to preserve life, or something even more disturbing?

“These Are Our Demands” weaves multiple tales with a variety of perspectives. Each story creates a world of its own, independent of every other entry in the collection. Quotable sentences abound throughout the work, including: “To wash demons, I need to take deep dives, not rely on cold-water-shack showerheads,” and, “Each morning, it took me an hour to look like myself. The myself expected by others. Certainly not the self that I have become now.”

The structure of this work could make it confusing for some readers. Each section is a stand-alone story so it can be jarring to read about so many different worlds that do not relate in any discernible way for such a short period of time. While Pitt does a great job developing characters within a small space, it feels as if you just get to know one character before having to move on to another. Perhaps each section requires a more careful reading in order to discern the links between different stories.   

A few memorable characters stand out. In one of the latter chapters, a woman spends her time bouncing back and forth between men, not really satisfied with any of them, but unable to grab the attention of the one she wants. Though she tries to persuade her friend to be more than just that, she finds it a harder task than she is willing to tackle. As she makes her way to what might be considered her consolation prize, she instead finds a rather shocking surprise. What will she do with her photograph of evidence?

I also liked the idea of the man who could see three seconds into the future. It really made me think, What could be possible with an ability like that? Would you be able to see far enough into the future that you could do something about it, or would it just be like knowing what is going to happen, as it happens?

In each piece in this collection, stories began right in the middle of the action. This can be disorienting; I had just been getting into the previous story! Jumping into another scene felt a bit like launching oneself out of a driving car into a nearby lake and treading water as soon as you cleared the surface. I was left wanting more every time.

Creative storylines and memorable quotations aside, this work is not something I’ll remember in a few months. To be fair, my tastes run towards science fiction and fantasy more than character sketches, but every storyteller operates under nearly the same set of requirements: characters that are memorable and narration that draws the reader in.

Please check out “These Are Our Demands” by Matthew Pitt and decide for yourself if it’s a book you’d recommend to others. In reading this book, I’ve learned a lot of things about writing, life, and probably a great many other things I don’t even realize. Because any good book is about bringing new perspective to the reader’s life, and I know for sure that Matthew Pitt’s “These Are Our Demands” has brought new viewpoints to my attention.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

The post Multiple Perspectives in Matthew Pitt’s “These Are Our Demands” appeared first on Newfound.

Did you say “experts”?

Yes, that’s who I’m talking about. People who claim to be “experts” in their fields, whatever subjects those may be. These individuals are called upon in certain cases to testify on behalf of other people or evidence, to speak to the public on television or radio, or provide advice and direction to those who just don’t have the time to learn such complicated things.

Information is complicated, that much we can agree on. Ever heard the phrase, “there are two sides to every story”? I’m sure in the course of your lifetime you’ve seen the applicability of such a statement. How about, “a picture is worth a thousand words”?

But are those thousand words exactly the same to each person? And is the information given in any story all the knowledge available?

Let’s consider the word “knowledge” for a moment.

Right now, you have the knowledge available to read this post. You know enough of the English language to understand what I’m writing, and if you don’t know the meaning of a word I use, you’ve got the vast resources of the internet to help you. These exact resources, or rather, the resource of today, is none other than the World Wide Web.

When I got the same Android phone my boyfriend has as my new phone, he was excited to show me the “Ok Google” (voice recognition) feature. After some childish interactions with this technological device, I came to realize the handiness of such a feature.

I could literally sit down with Google for the rest of my days and have barely uncovered the tip of the iceberg in terms of the knowledge available. And as we’ve all come to know via Freud, that’s nothing compared to what lies underneath.

So, if knowledge is an iceberg, what sort of iceberg are you currently working on? What do you spend your days researching?

Here’s my thought: those experts from a few paragraphs ago, those people aren’t just working on an iceberg, they’re directing it.

In my new job as a medical assistant I’ve learned an iceberg-ton of things about the medical industry so far (spoiler alert, those white coats hide a lot of red tape). One of the simplest things I’ve come to realize is that the medical industry is based on the entire principle of knowledge—and who does and does not have it.

When you’re not feeling yourself, you see a doctor because you expect them to have an answer. The public does the same thing when a crime is committed, only with police. This applies to your insurance agent, your lawyer, your tax professional, and anyone else you consult. You go to someone else because they have knowledge you don’t—and you pay them for the privilege to gain that specific knowledge.

Isn’t that why we go to college (if we attend)?

Ok Google, riddle me this: if the World Wide Web has every answer known to man—broadly speaking, of course, because secrets will inevitably always exist—why do we still need experts?

I found myself wrestling with this the other day, as I pondered the whole money-knowledge exchange that happens every day at the doctor’s office I work at. It’s not something you see, because the only card to change hands across that front desk has the name “Medicare” on it, but there is still a transaction occurring. If I can search on the web for the cause of my symptoms, why would I pay to see a doctor, who might possibly tell me the exact same thing I could have researched?

In truth, I haven’t found a satisfying answer yet. Is it because these experts command so much knowledge that we compensate them for their time and wisdom? Do we feel more validated when we receive an opinion from someone who commands respect and/or power, rather than relying on our own judgment?

My suspicions are that the reality lies more in the value of truth than anything else. In the medical field, truth is substantiated by scientific evidence. X-rays and MRIs and tests come back in quantifiable results. The catch is, you need a radiologist or a lab technician to interpret those results. The degrees they have, the money they’ve parted with to sustain the titles they do, that knowledge has come from a creditable source. That’s exactly where I think the world wide web begins to break apart. The quality of knowledge out there varies, a lot.

Experts these days must be more on top of it than before, especially with such quick fact-checking resources as Google. Gone are the days where you had to spend hours at the library looking for the right stats in the right book. But it’s interesting to think about libraries all the same: they’re a vast hoard filled by those minds who chose to write and publish their knowledge for the rest of the world to have access to. Separated by subject, they’re (obviously) the physical manifestation of the banks of societal knowledge we’ve stored up over centuries.

Add to the mix the fact that it’s easier than ever to publish a book these days—true or not—and suddenly you’ll start to see why knowledge, though vast and available to all who seek it, is still a protected species.

Where do you get your knowledge?

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

Cover Photo by Rita Morais on Unsplash

The post OK, Google: What’s an “expert”? appeared first on Newfound.

So, how did you use your first few days of the new year?

Taxes and health care coverage are two entities that start off at the top of the calendar. While you may have until April to get all your bucks in line, your health is not necessarily on the same schedule. I guess it all depends on your health insurance.

Do the words “open enrollment” mean anything to you?

I’ll be going into this new year with a new job. Well, that is, new in 2017, but new compared to what I started with last year. Instead of working in the trenches cleaning up the I-don’t-want-to-know filth out of cars, I’ve come face-to-face with the very source itself: my fellow human beings.

I now work as a Medical Assistant.

Before we go any further, let me provide a disclaimer: in no way am I speaking for my fellow Newfounders when I write this piece. The experiences I’ve had are ones I’d like to share, because at the end of it all, after the last insurance pay-out and the doctor’s office closes, the medical field should be about taking care of people.

Ever heard of the Hippocratic Oath?

Going into the job, I was excited to have a desk to sit at, a warm building around me, and a relatively low-impact day ahead of me. I’d worked in customer service before, so I was clued in to the nuances that speaking to the public requires, but what I could not prepare for—or expect—was the first-hand glance into our healthcare system.

Let’s consider the whole idea behind a doctor’s office, and what sort of assumptions we all more or less work off when we make an appointment. As the patient, if I’m feeling “under the weather,” I reach out to someone who’s medically trained and ask for help. Why does my throat hurt? Why am I so tired all of the time?

What can The Doctor do to help me feel better?

Most of us have this hope that The Doctor will have all the answers. They’ll tell us that we have a headache because we’re dehydrated, that we can’t sleep at night because of that chocolate bar we ate 10 minutes before bedtime, or that breast cancer runs in our family, so screenings are an obligation to our health.

Or, if you’re like most people, you go to the doctor because you need something from them. Whether it’s a prescription, a diagnosis, or a letter excusing us from jury duty, doctors offer us something for the vast amounts of money we spend each year. Or rather, some of us don’t spend, and are punished for.

Let’s return to my job for a second. It in no way commands the respect that a D.O. or M.D. does, but I’m involved in the entire process nonetheless. Mainly, the process of taking care of patients, those people “under a doctor’s care.”

It’s this patient-doctor relationship that I think draws most people in to shows like “House” and “Grey’s Anatomy.” Who doesn’t like to see a miracle happen? I’m sure we’d all like to think those kinds of miracles, while they are obviously dramatized, happen every day, but the truth of the matter is that doctors act more like guides. You go to a lawyer to seek legal guidance, and the worth of that advice is based upon how it impacts your life.

How do you think stock brokers make their money?

Investing care in your life is what you expect from doctors, whether it’s being friendly and asking about your kids or advising you that maybe eating one less Reese’s a day might add a few years. The doctors I work with gives out invaluable advice. No doubt about that. The problem I have is that that advice is barred behind quite a few barriers.

Barriers I believe well-intentioned people—after all, doctors are people, too—should not set in front of something so valuable as a person’s health.

They call it “bedside manner.” The retail industry calls it customer service. I call it recognizing and respecting the people who come to a doctor’s office as fellow human beings. You wouldn’t want someone to consider you another body on the table, would you? Another diagnosis, another specimen, another insurance claim.

I used to be a Medicaid number. I was the patient the doctor saw to “give back.” The poor case of someone who couldn’t afford proper health insurance.

Now, I’m part of those (growing) number of citizens who would rather face the threat of a fine at tax time (because if you’re already paying taxes, what’s a few more hundred dollars?) than sacrifice half of our monthly check. Those who have to privilege their belly over their health.

The office I work at offers small pieces of chocolate to patients. I advise them they can take as many as they’d like because the more they eat, the less I inhale. Part of me wants to see that small offering as a way to remember the celebrate the sweet moments in life. That sounds like something written on those Dove chocolate wrappers though, and I’m hardly one to paste those on my fridge.

Go back to your roots, medicine. Study that Hippocratic Oath a bit closer. When someone’s life is in your hands, respect the invaluable honor that comes with it.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

Photo by jesse orrico on Unsplash

The post For (Lack of) Health Care appeared first on Newfound.

If you could create a world, how would you make it? What would you fill it with?

What are your dreams?

Humanity has, since learning the patterns of letters that drive our society, come to know the world around us more intimately than ever. The bounds of knowledge extend far beyond any single person’s reach and yet, there are limits—still. The human mind is not able to comprehend nearly as much as the world has to offer.

Thank God for curiosity.

Many of us ultimately define our time on this earth by what we do, and to that end. We focus upon our impact on those around us. Whether or not we are lucky enough to earn a living via a hobby or specific area of interest, most often our legacy lies within the furrows of our brow, the folds of our palms and the curvature of our spine. What first piques our interest soon becomes a lifetime achievement.

What makes one person act upon a single entity, when so many others have passed by it without a care?

Resonance is the true value of inspiration. I could read a thousand books and never have found the desire to write my own, but with the crackling of a single book’s spine as I lay bare the words printed upon the coarse pages, a germ of an idea slinks its way up my fingertips, through the muscles of my arm, and nestle in the coiled folds of my mind, to someday re-emerge.

Have you ever wondered what the combined efforts of every brain would achieve?

Thinking about thoughts is a very complicated process, and one foolishly grounded in reality. The abstract has no authority where tangibility stands firm, but enough with these lofty comparisons! We seek our own path through the world, and yet, is it our fault when that path veers off into the unknown—and oftentimes unaccepted?

Writers past and present have magnified the tiniest slices of life, imagining worlds within our own, while those more analytically-minded have tirelessly trudged towards “the truth of things.” You might consider those more creative to be the first explorers, those intrepid souls who venture out into spaces unknown and illuminate aspects of the world we had not yet known of or considered. Those that follow engage with the minutest of aspects in order to elucidate just why the world is how it is. And in a perfect world, the entirety of humanity benefits.

Those of us that fashion words into greater creations understand that a single sentence is much more than a simple communication. Romance movies never stop attempting to create that “perfect speech” that lovers are dying to hear. The greatest movies are not only remembered because of the actors featured, but the one-liners that evoke a plethora of emotions. Every TV show relies on the writers to impress audiences; those that fail hardly see more than a few seconds of fame. Commercials—those hated minutes of sales-y speech between the featured presentation—choose their words as if they cost more than a family sedan, each.

Written materials are under the same constraints, without any access to the visual (with exceptions, of course). Books must entice their audiences with an enticing cover. Blogs do not survive for a web minute without the help of thousand-word-worth pictures. Ever had a garage sale? Fluorescent colors are your friend!

In the age when everyone is a “writer,” a true writer’s job gets harder with each e-book or novel published. I imagine that when American Idol first aired, not very many people understood that you could make a successful career by singing to the world. Years later, every street corner boasts the next superstar.

Can talent truly exist in such an abundance?

We all hope that those subjects we slave over will help others, either those amongst us now or awaiting us in the future. It is not only the time we spend and the labors we put into our interests, but the wealth we are able to share with others that truly comprise the value of our talents. While a critical eye remains unparalleled in achieving advancement, a positive outlook can be tempering.

I wanted to write this post about many things that inspired me within our newest edition. Varying topics struck me with their potential. But in the end, I knew that to focus upon one single speck would do the entire piece an injustice. Every contributor deserves the space they earned.

As writers, it is our job to take the public by the hand—or heart, or mind, what have you—and show them something new. Positively impacting the life of one single person makes it all worth-while. In this article, I’d like to give thanks to the published writers, for the voices they give to issues unknown or forgotten and the new perspectives they offer. I cannot emphasize enough how crucial writers are to society. Without writers, the world has no imagination. The infamous stories and legends we treasure and pass on to our children would not exist.

Thank you, writers, for the worlds you’ve given us and the inspiration you continue to provide.

Rebecca Henderson holds a Master’s in German and a Bachelor’s in Creative Writing. Best expressing herself through the written word, she enjoys the smell of burning rubber and can recite the ABC’s of the automotive world upon command. Rebecca hopes to shift your world perspective through her words, because looking out the same window every day hardly makes for an interesting life.

Cover photo by Jean-Frederic Fortier on Unsplash

The post The Write Word appeared first on Newfound.