New Short Story: Bad Air and Bitter Herbs


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Sometime in late April, I fell down a rabbit hole of links learning about the history of the plague in Europe. It was a dark impulse in the middle of a modern-day pandemic, but I became fascinated by the plague doctor costume, a head-to-toe covering designed to protect the physician from infected patients. Through my research, I learned that the costume itself may not have been widely used, but those who adopted it reflected a new wave of understanding infectious disease in the West — the personal protective equipment of the day.

The mask, while turning the wearer into an ominous looking bird, was meant to filter out contaminated air (“miasma”) with strong-smelling herbs and spices. The gloves and robes prevented the doctor from physically touching their patients and the staff may have allowed them to give direction from a safe distance.

Over the years, as our understanding of disease prevention and treatment evolved, so did the protective garb employed by doctors and nurses to mitigate infection. Gradually, the plague doctor uniform disappeared…

…but what if it didn’t? That was the starting point for the short story that been published this month by Creative Colloquy. In this story, I update the plague doctor for today’s COVID-19 pandemic. Now, I know we’re all awash in coronavirus anxiety, so I promise this will be my only pandemic-themed fiction for a while. But, I hope you enjoy my twist.

You can read the short story, “Bad Air and Bitter Herbs” here.

Please let me know what you think in the comments, thanks for reading, and please wear a mask and wash your hands. Thanks!

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle lives in Tacoma, WA with his wife, three typewriters, and a puppy. His fiction has been featured or is forthcoming in Creative Colloquy and Grit City Magazine. Follow him on Twitter and subscribe to the monthly newsletter for exclusive content delivered straight to your inbox.

C’est la pandémie


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It’s been 38 days since the COVID-19 pandemic became real for me. That was the day I started working from home, the day most businesses in Washington closed their doors, the day my knuckles started to crack from the sheer amount of handwashing I was doing, and the day that the numbers of the sick and dying starting to skyrocket across the country. It was the day that I realized this was not an isolated, regional outbreak. This was going to change our lives.

A week later, when we ventured out to pick up a pint of local ice cream, we walked by a string of empty businesses with boarded-up windows. It was a Friday night and yet no one was out. It was surreal, like a scene from an apocalyptic story; the kind I usually enjoy reading and writing about.

Rarely do we actually have the awareness that we’re living through history as its unfolding around us. But this is different. For over a month, I’ve lived with the heightened awareness that these days will come to define this chapter of my life; that someday, our homemade face masks will be in museums to teach children about the great pandemic of 2020. I thought, early on, that I would take copious notes during this time and I might even be able to write about the epidemic in real-time, producing a defining work of fiction based on true events.

That’s not what happened.

It’s been 38 days since I’ve been able to write coherently about anything. Instead of tapping into an endless fountain of inspiration unleashed by the chaos around me, the well has run dry. I’ve barely been able to answer my emails and text messages. I’m not even close to being in a space where I can write something insightful about the current situation.

A lot has been made about the fact that Shakespeare wrote some of his finest plays while in quarantine. But Shakespeare lived in a very different world. The plague was a fact of life, an illness that recurred every few years in Elizabethan England. It may have been disruptive, but it was also a part of everyday life in a way that the coronavirus is not in our world.

Far from an excuse for downtime that’s conducive to creative output, COVID-19 is putting us through trauma as a slow-motion disaster rips its way through our fragile society. Psychologically, most of us (myself very much included) are dealing with grief — and it’s hard to focus on anything else.

So, as I’ve sat safely in my house, in a good neighborhood where I feel safe walking around, with a fast internet connection and streaming services at my fingertips, with the luxury of going to the grocery store every other week and having food delivered when it’s too much to cook after a long day of telecommuting, I’m still processing. I think I’ll be processing for a while. While I’m processing, I’ll waver between hope, despair and exhaustion.

Only once I’m done processing do I expect to have the capacity to write the way I used to. I hope the day comes soon when we’ll be able to step out of the shadow of grief and into whatever comes next.

Stay home.
Stay safe.
Wash your hands.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer and filmmaker in Tacoma, WA. He lives with his wife and three typewriters in a 110-year-old house. Follow his quarantine thoughts on Twitter and sign up for the newsletter for exclusive content.

The Birthday Resolutions Take Flight


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Earlier this week, on the eve of my thirtieth birthday, I was flipping through a stack of old National Geographic magazines, looking for something to symbolize my goals for the new year. A friend was hosting a vision board party at a bar in Seattle’s Queen Anne neighborhood. Now, I’m not entirely sure I understand what a vision board is, so I’m sure I was doing it wrong, but as a former elementary school student, I felt pretty confident when I saw the magazines, scissors and glue sticks spread out on the table.

I didn’t have a plan. I wasn’t looking for anything in particular, just words and images that inspired me. I slowly amassed an admirably random pile of clippings. Grabbing a poster board and a glue stick, I realized there was an unintentional, perhaps subconscious, theme in the images I’d chosen. From an advertisement, I’d lifted a man in a jet pack. An article on the redwoods yielded two scientists scaling a monolithic tree too tall to fit on the page. A feature on birds of prey offered up the image of a screaming hawk, its tawny wings spread wide.


Reaching new heights.


For most, if not all, of human history, we’ve yearned to emulate birds and soar among the clouds. However, despite our lofty aspirations, but it wasn’t until one hundred years ago that the Wright Brothers built a flying machine that could actually sustain flight. Reaching a difficult goal takes determination, repeated failure, and time. Orville and Wilbur Wright could never have achieved the world’s first powered flight without their fair share of crash landings. I think life is a lot like that.

Which brings me to my yearly tradition of making birthday resolutions instead of new year’s resolutions. No, I’m not getting my pilot’s license or going skydiving. Last year, I was not able to realize most of my resolutions. It wasn’t for lack of trying, but life took a couple of unexpected turns, as life has a tendency to do. As I set out on this new year, this new decade, and my thirtieth year of life, I’m aware that failure is the best teacher. I’ve learned a lot from what I tried and was unable to accomplish last year, and I have better ideas for how to improve my process in 2020.

This year, for my birthday resolutions, I have my sights set on taking flight — metaphorically, of course — while also taking to heart the lessons of failure. So, without further ado, here’s what I have my sights set on this year:

1. Pursue a Healthy Balance

Last year, I set myself a challenge of running a 5K. It didn’t happen. This year, I’m still focused on taking better care of myself, but I’m not limiting myself to running. I want to go for long walks, hike through the woods, kayak around Puget Sound, break a sweat working on our ongoing remodel and exercise on a regular schedule. If I do some running along the way, that would be excellent. Overall, though, I’m more interested in striking a healthier balance in my life — more physical activity, less laying on the couch — in whatever way works for me.

2. Write and Publish

Three years ago, I declared I would complete a draft of a novel by the time I turned thirty. Well, I’m thirty now and the novel isn’t done; however, I am halfway through and the story is starting to take wing. I didn’t make my arbitrary deadline, but that’s okay. I’m not giving up and will continue to chip away at my manuscript until it’s ready for its debut.

In addition to my novel, I have an itch to write more short fiction, which has taken a back seat recently. I love short stories and flash fiction and I have several ideas burning a hole in my notebook that I can’t wait to get to work on.

Finally, I’m refocusing on getting more of my work published in 2020. I have an opportunity in the next couple of months to submit to a local publication I really admire, and I hope it’s the start of getting more of my words into print (or pixels) for the world to see.

3. Indulge My Curiosity

Last fall, I embarked on a journey I could not have foreseen when I started an online program to earn a certificate in strategic communication and public relations. Going back to school, even in an incredibly limited fashion, reminded me that I don’t miss homework, but I do enjoy learning. The program is short (I’ll be finished in March), but I plan to continue stretching my brain, seeking out books, articles, podcasts, and documentaries to help me widen my worldview and challenge my preconceived ideas. The world is huge and complex and there is so much to know. As I enter my third decade, it’s obvious to me that I’m just scratching the surface.

Will I spread my wings and take flight this year? Only time will tell, and I’ll be sure to share highlights here on the blog. Thanks for reading!

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, storyteller, and hawk fledgling nesting in Tacoma, WA. You can follow him on Twitter and join the mailing list to get exclusive content delivered straight to your inbox each month.

For Auld Lang Syne


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close up photography of a cocktail drinks

Photo from

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And auld lang syne.

A few weeks ago, as I was driving home from the grocery store, I passed the apartment I lived in when I first moved to Tacoma. More than six years ago, I arrived in the City of Destiny without a job or a plan for what I was going to do with my life. That first apartment was awful — cold, mouse-infested, and dingy. As I drove on toward the house I now own, in my new-ish car filled with groceries purchased thanks to a good job with a steady paycheck, I got to thinking about how far I’ve come in the last 10 years.

There is something about the turning of a decade that feels like the end of a chapter. The fact that we break up years into groups of ten is, of course, completely arbitrary. But even so, history has layered previous decades with meaning and symbolism. We’ve even given some of them nicknames, like the Roaring Twenties. And so, I can’t help but want to mark this decade and leave my stamp on it, just as surely as it has left its stamp on me.

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

This decade turned my life upside down over and over again. I graduated from college, fell in love, moved to the Pacific Northwest, found gainful employment, got married, became a published writer, saw the world, bought a house, challenged myself to write a novel. I’ve experienced the happiest days of my life so far, but also some of the darkest.

We twa hae run about the braes
And pu’d the gowans fine;
But we’ve wander’d mony a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.

There is a tendency to romanticize the past; to blur out the pain and struggle; to sanitize our memories like a social media feed. There’s nothing wrong with that. I certainly don’t want to linger on past hardships, but I can’t deny that those moments are a part of the story, too.

So, this New Year’s Day, I want to reflect on how far I’ve come and all that I’ve achieved and be grateful, but I also want to acknowledge that it’s been a rocky road to get here. There are always two sides to any story and no matter what the 2020s have in store, I’ll always carry my memories and experiences from this decade with me. As a kind, old Doctor once said, “We’re all stories in the end, just make it a good one, eh?”

We twa hae paidl’d i’ the burn,
Frae mornin’ sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer and storyteller in Tacoma, WA. You can read his short fiction in of Creative Colloquy and Grit City Magazine or follow him on Twitter. While you’re here, please join the mailing list!

P.S. – If you’re interested in learning more about the history of the Scottish poem turned global New Year’s Eve anthem, give a listen to John Green’s review of Auld Lang Syne in the latest episode of his excellent podcast, The Anthropocene Reviewed.

Top 10 Reads of the 2010s


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The end of a decade is a time for reflection and, even more importantly, it’s a time for top 10 lists from your favorite blogs. Over the last 10 years, I’ve done a lot of reading, so as 2019 winds down, I thought I would look back at my favorite books of the 2010s:


10. The Dead Beat: Lost Souls, Lucky Stiffs, and the Perverse Pleasures of Obituaries by Marilyn Johnson

Yes, you read that right. I really did enjoy a book about obituaries. I loved every page of this darkly funny, deeply human exploration of the underappreciated art form of commemorating our lives in the pages of a newspaper (remember those?).


9. The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway

I first picked up Ernest Hemingway when I was in high school. I was instantly captivated by his terse, staccato style of writing and exciting themes. His early work is all about war and manly, suppressed emotions, but The Old Man and the Sea, Hemingway’s last major work before his death, is his most mature work. In this short fable, he immerses the reader into the timeless struggle between humanity and nature.


8. To End All Wars: A Story of Loyalty and Rebellion, 1914-1918 by Adam Hochschild

This unique history of the Great War contrasts pacificists and soldiers on both sides of the conflict to detail the moral complexity of the war that shattered Europe. Hochschild’s research and use of journal entries and personal letters serve to illustrate the conflict in strikingly human terms and make the issues of a hundred years ago feel as urgent as if it was happening today.


7. Eye of the Needle by Ken Follett

In this mile-a-minute pageturner, Follett takes a known historical event — WWII’s D-Day landings —  and imbues it with suspense. This novel revolves around a strong cast of characters, each with their own secrets, struggling against their personal demons and each other, with the fate of the world hanging in the balance.


6. Station Eleven by Emily St. John Mandel

Station Eleven is a rare post-apocalyptic novel that gives me hope for the future. Despite the loss of life and leads to the collapse of modern society, the characters in St. John Mandel’s vision of a future years after a catastrophic plague find purpose in beauty, art, and human connection.


5. Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury

This short novel about censorship and losing touch with both our past and each other foreshadows so much of our present-day issues. It’s a book I find myself coming back to every few years and one that continues to remind me of the power of science fiction to warn us away from our darkest impulses as a species.


4. All the Old Knives by Olen Steinhauer

All the Old Knives is a slow burn, told primarily in flashbacks as two spies circle each other in a deadly game of cat and mouse in the idyllic setting of a sleepy Northern California town. Steinhauer is masterful in continually raising the stakes. It’s as tense as dinner with an old friend could possibly be and it’s wonderful.


3. Lost City Radio by Daniel Alarcón

Alarcón is one of my favorite writers I’ve discovered over the past decade. I highly recommend his short story collections, but Lost City Radio is a beautiful introduction to his incredible sense of place. In Lost City Radio, individual tragedies are set against the backdrop of an endless war in a nameless country that feels so real it hurts.


2. Several Short Sentences About Writing by Verlyn Klinkenborg

As a writer, I’m a sucker for books about writing, but this one is not your average writing book. Unlike the more popular choices like Bird by Bird or On Writing (which are both excellent), Klinkenborg examines the building blocks of all writing — sentences themselves — and deconstructs the process of writing in a stream of consciousness style which makes it hard to put down and really changed my thinking about my own process.


1. The Broken Earth Trilogy by N.K. Jemisin

Okay, it’s technically cheating to have my last pick be three books, but the Broken Earth series blew my mind. Jemisin is a game-changing voice in science fiction today and to say anything more about her epic three-part story about converging factions in the land of the Stillness would be giving away too much. Close your browser and read it now. It’s amazing.

In the 2020s, I hope to make more time for amazing books like these. I also hope to add new voices to my bookshelf and more diverse voices in the coming years. What are your favorite books from the past 10 years? I’d love to hear your recommendations in the comments!

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA. He’s (slowly) working on a novel manuscript and seeking publication for a pretty cool time travel short story. His previous fiction has appeared in the pages of Creative Colloquy and Grit City Magazine.

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Motivated By Rejection


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This week, I got a rejection from a prominent science fiction journal. Rejections are common when you’re a writer trying to publish short fiction. The competition is fierce and editors can only publish so many stories. They have to draw the line somewhere, so the vast majority of responses you get when shopping around a story is: “No thanks” or “This isn’t what we’re looking for.”

I’ve received my fair share of rejections since I first started sending out my short stories. The first ten or twenty really hurt. It felt personal, even though I knew it was a professional judgment on whether the story fit a particular editor’s needs, but it always felt like a condemnation of my dream of being a writer. Each rejection that piled up felt like an argument that I wasn’t any good; that I should give up.

I don’t feel that way anymore.

Maybe I grew a thicker skin to criticism or perhaps I’ve learned to distance myself emotionally from the process. But for whatever reason, I’ve come to see rejections as motivating rather than discouraging.

The rejection I received this week felt good. It’s been a busy year and quality writing time is scarce these days. This was my first rejection is over a year for the simple fact that I hadn’t submitted anything to a literary journal in so long.

So, when I got this rejection, it felt like I’d earned it. I had risked something and taken the bold step of sending a story that I’d been polishing for years out into the world. I had accomplished something and that felt good.

Rejection is never fun, but look closer. The story I sent wasn’t what this editor was looking to publish — but they still liked it — and they invited me to submit again if I write something else. As far as rejections go, this one gave me hope that I am a decent writer after all and that my work is enjoyable to read.

The same day I got that rejection, I submitted to the next journal on my list of favorite places to read contemporary scifi. They also turned it down, but I still feel like I’m back in the running and I’m more determined than ever to find this piece a home.

Rejection can feel like defeat. Or it can feel like a nudge in the right direction. It’s up to you.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer in Tacoma, WA who dabbles in filmmaking and photography. He’s (slowly) working on a novel manuscript and seeking publication for a pretty cool time travel short story. His previous fiction has appeared in the pages of Creative Colloquy and Grit City Magazine.


King of the Open Road


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jonny and the pilot 2019

Last week, I handed over the keys to my 2005 Honda Pilot to my younger sister. It was an emotional moment, because my baby sister is now old enough to drive. It was also emotional for me because I was saying farewell to an old friend. Call me sentimental, but I have a tendency to get attached to inanimate objects, and it was hard to say goodbye to my trusty companion.

The Lone Ranger had Silver. Thor had his hammer. I had my Honda Pilot EX-L.

My Pilot was the first car I ever bought on my own. It was the car I drove to college, the car that I used to help numerous friends move, the car that defied gravity on a steep and ill-advised passing maneuver on a one-lane desert road. It was the car I took down to Oak Creek in the summer and the car I packed with friends for a drive to the Grand Canyon at 4 a.m. to watch the sunrise.

It was the ultimate road trip machine, including recent trips to Canada and the Oregon Coast. I loved that you could fill the back with camping gear and escape into the wilderness at a moment’s notice. It was perfect for our week-long, 1,800+ mile trip to Yellowstone with American Gods playing on CD.

It had the world’s loudest and least effective windshield wipers (which wasn’t an issue until we moved to Washington) and it was old enough to come with a cassette tape deck, which was only used once to play the Complete James Bond Theme Songs.

My Pilot was reliable. It never got stuck, never broke down, and never failed to start whether it was -13 degrees or 113 degrees (except for that one time at a fancy hotel when the battery and alternator died simultaneously and the valet had to jump it to get it to the parking lot…that was embarrassing).

From the faded pirate bobble head on the dashboard to the NAU decal in the back window to the mysterious scratch on the back bumper that I still can’t explain, it was and is a great little SUV.

captain flint golden gate 2019

It’s strange how a metal box on wheels can exert such a pull on the human heart, but it’s undeniable. My Pilot is a testament to the power of good design and engineering to build a thing that not only serves its intended purpose — to get people from point A to point B — but to feel almost like a living thing. Everything about it, from the rev of the engine to the feel of the steering wheel imbued it with personality.

Perhaps that’s why cars have held a special place in the American psyche for over a hundred years. We care for them, we collect them, we fill them with memories. We spend so much time with them that it’s hard not to feel a connection with our favorite machines.

And while it’s sad to think I won’t be climbing behind the wheel every day, I’m glad to pass it on to someone who will appreciate it. Because at the end of the day, the best thing a machine can be is useful. It’s time for it to retire to warmer climes. There’s a poetry to the fact that in the process, it will complete a 100,000-mile round trip to the city and state where I first test drove it 10 years ago. Now it can help make memories for my sisters.

The road is long, but I have the feeling its journey is just beginning.


— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker in Tacoma, WA and is currently in the market for a new chariot of mythic proportions to fill with memories. You can read his short fiction on Creative Colloquy and follow him on Twitter.

The Making of a New Short Film: “As Seen On TV”


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Still frame from As Seen On TV. Copyright 2019 Obscure Studios.

There was a time in my life where I could call up a couple of friends with a wild idea, grab my handheld camcorder and make a short film in an evening or a weekend. It was a freewheeling, fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants style of filmmaking that prioritized creative freedom over everything else — including scripts, plot, lighting, sound — and it’s what allowed Obscure Studios, the film company I founded and ran with a few friends, to rack up well over 100 videos in just two years.

After moving from Arizona to Washington and away from my cadre of usual collaborators, filmmaking took a backseat to my writing and other creative pursuits. Last year, with the 10th anniversary of our minor hit, Reilly’s Dorm, looming, I had the chance to travel back to Northern Arizona. There, I carved out a couple of hours with my go-to partner in crime, the incomparable Will McDonald, to write and shoot a brand new short film.

We were a little rusty, but five years between short films can do that. We cooked up a story outline at my favorite coffee shop and the next morning, filmed the opening and closing scenes of the film in the Airbnb where we were staying and the woods behind Will’s house. That afternoon, we set up shop in the basement of Theatrikos, Flagstaff’s community theater and a longtime support of Obscure Studios. We rigged up a lighting setup, cobbled together a campy alien costume for me to wear, and filmed the scenes that make up the heart of the film, as well as a quick promo video.

And that’s all we had time for. We left straight from the theater to catch our flight back to the PNW and dove into a remodel of our house a few days later. It wasn’t until January that I remembered the footage that was waiting on my iPhone’s hard drive.

Over the course of a few weeks, I pieced together the shots we’d captured that summer day. I was pleasantly surprised to see how good most of it was and how well the pieces fit into place. I played around with audio effects to give my voice an unearthly quality, tossed in a couple of visual and lighting effects, and added a 1914 public domain recording of “Stay Down Where You Belong” by Arthur Fields, slowed down to 10% of its regular speed as the soundtrack (I had originally planned to perform my own synthesizer music, but I quickly remembered that I’m not very musically talented, so only a few notes made it into the final cut).

Overall, I’m really happy with how “As Seen On TV” turned out. Much of the credit goes to Will, a fantastic actor who’s immediately likeable on screen and blessed with impeccable comedic timing. And of course, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention my inspiration: my lovely wife who said, “You and Will should really make a movie while we’re in town” and provided both an unplanned cameo and makeup/special effects assistance with the alien goo (aka dish soap).

Filmmaking is one of those things that demands so much time and attention to detail that you always feel exhausted at the end of a day of filming or editing. But, as soon as you see the final product, a dose of endorphins convince you that the sweat and tears were all worth it and all you want to do is make another and another. Making “As Seen On TV” makes me want to break out my camera and tell more stories, so don’t be surprised if you see more in the coming months and years. I feel a renaissance coming.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer and filmmaker in Tacoma, WA. Incidentally, Tacoma would be an amazing setting for a noir thriller, don’t you think? When not engaged in cinematic plotting, you can find him on Twitter. Learn more about Obscure Studios on our fancy website.

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The First Thirty Thousand Words


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Boardwalk, Yellowstone National Park. Copyright 2018 Jonny Eberle.

At my core, I’m a short story writer, a factor that has been both a blessing and a curse as I set out to write a full-length novel. At the 30,000-word mark, just over one-quarter of the way to my goal, it hit me that I was attempting something new. Up until this point, I could’ve taken what I’d written so far and turned it into a very long piece of short fiction; one of those short stories without an ending that thinks its clever for leaving the reader hanging for resolution. But moving past 30,000 words in my manuscript, that easy off ramp is disappearing in the rear view mirror.

A novel is not a short story that didn’t know when to quit. Short stories, well told, are like diamonds — small, multifaceted, and complex, but contained. They’re defined by the surprising depth and tension that comes from expertly working within the constraints of the form to make each and every word matter.

A novel is not like that. I don’t even have a metaphor to describe it, because I’m still discovering the differences. I’ve noticed that my writing style has started to change as my word count grows. I’m thinking more about the big picture and how scenes need to echo forward and back through the narrative. Three plot points aren’t enough to sustain the whole thing from beginning to end. Instead, I’ve felt the need to add three or more complications to each scene to maintain forward momentum.

There is no going back. I have to see this through and continue to see how the form forces my hand, as well as where I can push back to subvert it in small ways. I guess the best metaphor at this point of naïveté is a whirlpool. The farther in I venture, the more I am pulled in. It is a terrifying thing to see the scale of an unfolding novel reveal itself in bits and pieces, but it also gives me hope that I can charge ahead into the next scene and the next chapter until I at last reach the end.

Thirty thousand words down; 65,000 or so to go. Wish me luck.

— 30 —

Jonny Eberle is a writer, photographer, and filmmaker in Tacoma, WA. When not obsessing over his novel manuscript, he can be found on the Twitterverse. Watch his new short film, As Seen On TV, on YouTube or Facebook.

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