The first four months of writing the book, my mental image is scratching with my hands through granite. My other image is pushing a train up the mountain, and it's icy, and I'm in bare feet. ↗
Some people aren't touchy-feely, but I grew up in a family where you'd walk into the family room and there'd be five people on the couch with an arm here, an arm there, everyone scratching and taking turns. ↗
Many of my friends and family are scratching it out somewhere decidedly south of the ever widening gap between the haves and have nots, looking at losing their homes, colleges they can't afford and healthcare they can't avail themselves of. ↗