Five Star Friday's 129th Edition Is Brought to You By Ernest Hemingway

This Five Star Friday roundup is brought to you by a father figure, depression, eco-friendliness, domestic violence, living in the moment, desire for the visceral, the voice of reason, incest, healing, childhood illness, divorce, a cab ride, narrative thread, the Hollywood Collectors' Show, women in religion, memory, and Ernest Hemingway:

ernest-hemingway.jpg
If a writer knows enough about what he is writing about, he may omit things that he knows. The dignity of movement of an iceberg is due to only one ninth of it being above water.
     — Ernest Hemingway

If you've written good things, be generous and share the urls in the comments.

Happy Friday!

"

Ray

" from

Calling People Names

:

Yet all those things I listed make me smile, because honestly, when I look at the big picture, having a dad that irritates me and hogs the remote is a great deal easier than having one that's an alcoholic and a borderline sociopath. I will always love my father, but the majority of the reason I do so is, sadly, because I have to...because it's what my blood dictates. Loving Ray hasn't just been easier, it's been healing.

"

Black Cab

" from

Bag Lady

"

Familiarity

" from

Life At Another Level

Trigger warning – this article mentions incest:

"

Is Sex Cost-Effective?

" from

Big Fat Trauma Queen

:

I think that "intense" sexual energy of mine is a kind of poison. It hurts me and it hurts other people. It tricks them into seeing me as someone I'm not - and it drives their interest away from the responses of my spirit, toward the responses of my lips and skin. Sex makes me interchangeable.

"

A Dark Day In My Bright World

" from

The Secret Life of an Unknown Housewife

"

I'm Not Afraid of Dying. I'm Afraid of Missing Things.

" from

Ordinary Art

"

Memory Is Often Less About the Truth Than About What We Want It to Be

" from

Spin Me I Pulsate

:

I'm starting over, but patience has never been my strong point. If I had my way, that past would be folded crane like into my palms, and tucked in the corner of an old moving box, kissed on the road out the door.
I would be clean of it, 3 times over.

"

Sabrina Parke: Who Should I Make This Out To?

" from

Writing, Writer, Writest

"

Broken and Whole

" from

Wanderlust

"

Imaginary Ocean

" from

LaurieWrites

:

I sat by her on the sand. We talked. I tried to imagine her forgiving me for all that I didn't do in the years that she was sick – all of the time I wasted on a man who would do nothing but find me inadequate and break my heart, and friends who in spite of varying value would never mean as much to me as she did.
She reached out her hand and told me to stop. She would never acknowledge my need for her forgiveness. She absolved me everything, never thinking she had to absolve me anything.

"

3 Ways to Stay Green During the Holidays

" from

Raising a Revolutionary

"

Inside, I Go On Forever

" from

Say Another Lexi

"

Marshmallows & Marbles

" from

The Everyman's Kitchen

:

There's this voice in my head. It's kind of low, hollow sounding. Garbled. Like, if you filled you mouth full of marshmallows and marbles and tried to sing Bohemian Rhapsody. This voice tells me things. Like, the time I kicked one very drunk Mikey Bigg (and he was too. fucking huge.) in the berries and Mikey Bigg didn’t even flinch. The voice told me, "son. now you done stepped in it. you might had better dig in a work the body." Which I did. Mikey Bigg still worked out on me though. That was a fun night.

"

Respite

" from

Slouching Past 40

"

An Affront to the Eyes of God

" from

Roger Ebert's Journal

"

The Memory Palace

" from

cribchronicles.com

:

the memory palace is a gift in its compartmentalization. because in the moment this morning, when i thought, the 29th of November and i remembered my father's birthday and then that other morning in what seems like another life and yesterday all at once, there i was in that yellow room with the warm floor under me and that magic plastic stick in my hand. and it was the sheer surprise that flooded back, the metallic tang of hope, the quiet joy. i know the rest. but the memory palace does not, and i am glad for the way it plucks each day out, vivid and unto itself.

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