One and a half hours on the Sekrit Projekt today, plus time spent on other writing related program activities. Tomorrow is Fireside Writers’, which means I’ll get some more time plugged in. Wednesday,
Decision makers who’d never worked in the field had a way of assuming you were just lazy or cutting corners if you couldn’t lay it out neat, tidy and tight. If anything, the opposite was true. Any analyst or political officer who could tie off a diplomatic situation with square corners and no missing pieces was either lying or skimming.
“Neither a liar nor a skimmer be,” he muttered under his breath.
How did a man make sense of this mess here? There wasn’t even a war on, and it was still confusing. E.E.’s experience of wartime Biafra had done nothing to reassure him about the value of recognizing your enemy by his uniform. The most such things told you was who was trying to kill you in that moment, not why. Or what they might be doing an hour later. Besides no one was getting killed here. Just good old-fashioned mumblety-peg with machetes – politics, Southeast Asian style.
The questions marched down his tablet in stark rows, like Napoleonic armies arrayed on Flanders fields.