When I was in junior high, once a year we had a week where we were permitted to bring our cameras to school and take black-and-white pictures for the yearbook. Two of these pictures are from that. I no longer remember the people in them. There is a streetscape from near my house, and the grayness of the season, the dirty snow, the dried salt on the road, the bare trees in relief against the sunless sky return to me that feeling of endless winter that occurs in the North. And there is my younger sister, just a girl in elementary school at the time. I’ll throw out the pictures from school. I’ll keep that of my sister and the street near my house.
How to open a cat’s mouth
This is one from the archives, it never made it into a journal. I’m guessing I took this picture (in truth, someone else must have taken it, because those are my hands–I think) when I was still doing some veterinary journalism, and that it was for an article.
Writing used to be a great gig. I would write a number of articles per year. I’d do research, interviews, and then an editor would go over them with a fine tooth comb. Sources would be checked. Interviews would be transcribed. I would rewrite them to the editors’ specs, and then we’d go over the final product. For all of this work, I’d get paid enough to make it worth my while, and in my best year freelancing made up about a third of my income.
Then came the internet.