Uruguay

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Editing for authors: because every writer needs a good editor.

Within_is_without

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In November of 2014 I left my comfortable, numb routine in Oregon, boarded a 737, and headed off to Piriápolis, Uruguay. Extracting myself from the dense thicket my life had become was staggeringly difficult. Leaving everything I had known for 59 years felt like jumping off a cliff.


But I wanted to know. What would happen to me if I killed off the character I had become? How would Part II of my life script unfold? Would I end up surveying the incomprehensible mess I had made, blubbering inconsolably? Would I wind up on a gurney watching the beige corridors roll past in a foreign hospital, my body covered with some sort of hideous jungle rash? Or would I be greeted with kindness and grace, warm sands and sunsets, clinking glasses and joie de vivre?


As I settled in for the long red-eye flight from Miami, I knew had ventured past the edge of the map. The gears of my mind were jammed. I simply couldn't form coherent images of the complete unknown. Life itself was writing my story, moment by moment.“Sir, would you like a beverage?”
 
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Snitchcat

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Argon

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Hi, within. I don't know what you intend to write about, but after reading your post, I believe you can write.
 

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