It’s always rice and eggs
The water was at our backs, but everything still looked blue. It was a Saturday, and the sky above the lake was shockingly clear. The breeze hurried the fluffy clouds along like an invisible, impatient dog walker trying to jostle a pack of Pomeranians past the more interesting signposts and fence posts: a brief stall, then a fluid push forward. Usually, all that blue would have felt like a gift. That day, walking home from a particularly sad documentary interview, I wasn’t sure it was helping. Outside of writing this newsletter, I work on radio documentaries with my partner, Stephen. They are creative projects with the sneaky ability to hollow you out sometimes, especially when the story requires you to watch someone move through a series of the hardest days of their life. Not every documentary I’ve worked on has gone that way. This one has. I carried my messy notes as we walked slowly. Stephen carried a neatly packed bag lined with recorders, headphones and batteries. We were quiet, as we typically are after …
