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For someone who writes, I’ve been keeping a lot of thoughts in my head, not focusing on articulating them. Part of this results from having work deadlines to meet, but another part reflects my trying to digest my own thoughts and those of others at a time when so many have so much to say.

One of the disturbing elements of this election cycle has been that words, and the concepts they embody, have been vulnerable to transformation. In some circles, facts and fabrications have become synonyms. Truth has become repetition of a lie. Speaking civilly is called being politically correct; speaking rudely is called being honest. Being working class is not an economic designation but an educational one. When I grew up in a working-class family we aspired to becoming well educated. But now that I am, although without any of the wealth or power I thought requisite, I am considered part of the elite.

The election has taken my focus away from my writing—it has made it feel trivial. I hope to move beyond this juncture—this post is a small attempt to give myself license to return to my writing, however trifling it seems at times. But writing is affirming and healing—it reminds me that we can ensure the integrity of words by using them carefully and honestly. It reminds me that evilness can worm itself from the openings made when words and the intentions behind them are not married. It reminds me that we must keep our souls intact and carry on.

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