Hi, I’m Meg Holle. This is one of my websites—the identity with the most dirt, blood sweat tearjerks, fireworks and famine. By day I’m a librarian, by night whatever nightthoughts bring, weekend warrior never stop working, don’t stop believing in [blank], in breathing, while the puppies push their noses into my knees and beg me to play.
I don’t post as much as I used to, which is to say I don’t write, don’t take out my camera they put in my phone so I have no excuse now. I was born late 1980. Sometimes I’m roped into millennials, other times dangling in Generation X, and that’s what it feels like, both and neither, left behind, dragged along, adrift.
I miss, though. Am remiss. When I don’t document, don’t reflect, pile up words then put them in order, give them grit to give me face, and I don’t mean Instagram dinner plates. Tidy tweets in traffic. I mean the deepsicks. Allda way down.
Bah. I got nothing to be guilty about.
I’ve laid my bones in all kinds of places—Fargo, Vancouver, Minneapolis—and currently reside in Austin, Texas, with my mister Arthur, the best dogs ever, house plants and roiling heat.
These are a few of my favorite things
large bodies of water
birds on wires
piles of garbage
the sides of buildings
places I shouldn’t be