I've always wanted a manifesto. It sounds so good, so revolutionary. The sort of thing that would allow you to die in peace, since obviously you had stood for something.
Sadly, I've conducted an extensive review of my curriculum vitae and I have little to fuel a proper manifesto. I don't think most manifesto authors are as content as I am to sit on the couch for hours wondering why my baby toe never fully developed, or who is to blame for the current propagation of frisée (aka curly endive) in ready-made salad mixes. Frisée is a useless and unwieldy leaf.
Still, a manifesto I shall have, though it may not be as glorious as the one of my dreams.
Manifesto
(Which means: publicly declaring the intentions, motives, views, of its issuer.)
Yikes.
Okay. Let’s start with issuer.
Kiley Turner: Partner in a hot little creative strategy firm (Turner-Riggs), newish mom to Bam Bam the Human Tornado, preggo (with #2), chowhound, book nut, cool-girl crusher despite everlasting love with one and only colleague @craigriggs, tyrant and big pile of mush wrapped into one.
Intentions: To put my thoughts into writing and inflict them on unsuspecting passers-by.
Motives: To get it out.
Views: Ambivalent about most things. Extreme about the rest.
That’ll do for now.
