We huddled in the breath of our willful ignorance

Tommy Dean’s When the Water’s Came in CX is an apocalyptic flash fiction with the same vitriolic energy as a Henry Rollins spiel. It uses an increasing invective that brings its anger at those who came before with it. The threat here has come into being because nothing has been done, and nothing continues to be done about this particular apocalypse.

In this world, which may well be ours at some point in the not immeasurably distant future. Here’s a taste:

It takes us from the point of our drowning in a kind of active disregard for our own wellbeing to this pivotal point where it introduces the family, the parents. Here is goes a little Greek. Here the scale changes, and we are offered the idea of being children with dreams but still no action — abandoned by parents and tapping into some generational guilt that those before us were intent on damning us with inaction.

If you’re anything like me you love to read about how other writers write. I particularly enjoy Morrisons’ comments about not knowing the “weekdays sounds” of her own home.

The interview explores ideas of rituals for writing and particularly in getting up before sunrise to write — firstly for necessity and then as part of finding the connection to whatever that place the words come from.

Our Sam has a new piece up in the very nice and warming sounding Potato Soup Journal. The story itself is a lovely bit of prose about the dreams of spending foreseen free time well. it’s one of those nice bits of writing where there’s good light and a very gentle sense of time.

A last minute addition:

Thanks for reading Etch To Their Own, if this issue was in candy crush, it would disappear for making three things that match line up. Thanks for reading these tired words. I have some joyful books being slowly rowed across the atlantic to me, and I have some I have nearly finished, like Muscle, which really need to find their home in these tiny pages.

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