Alex Armstrong

Some years ago I was ambling down the street of a distant city in search of food, when I remembered something I needed to do when I got back to my hotel room. I pulled my phone from my back pocket and opened my task manager. I tapped out the task and then drew a blank. What…

A friend asked me if I celebrate Thanksgiving yesterday. As a vegetarian, I don’t find this holiday particularly appealing. Also, it’s not at all a thing in Greece, where I live. Knowing that my father is American, she noted that some people celebrate their “home thing”. I…

I write a lot of email. As I’ve written more of it, I’ve gotten better at it. By which I mean I’ve become more considerate of the person receiving the email, trying to keep my emails brief but also thorough. But these are competing goals, and brevity takes too much time. As the…

This blog has been quiet, though my life – including my writing life – has been busier than ever. There are plenty of things I’ve wanted to write but didn’t get round to starting. Or I did start them, but didn’t finish them. Or I finished them, but didn’t like them well enough to…

I drew the shutters of the bar I worked at around one in the morning. Ch— used to work there as well. That’s how we first met. But she had quit in a huff a few weeks earlier and began working at a nearby club. I lived nearby, in a one-room flat without its own bathroom. Since I…

Over the last two weeks, since returning from my fourth meditation retreat, I’ve written three or four blog posts, of which I’ve published precisely zero. The pace is a bit more frenzied than typical, partly owing to meditation. After this last retreat I began sitting twice a…

I was walking down the bay of Thessaloniki this morning, enjoying the drizzly, foggy day. I took a few photos of the container ships which hung soundlessly out in the misty water, like ghost ships from an ominous tale. Walking back, I kept stopping to take more pictures. I’m not…

The man walking towards me on the other side of the pavement caught my eye and ambled in my path. We stopped and sized each other. He was in his sixties. Being a bit shorter than me, he pushed the flat cap up on his forehead to look at me. He pointed to a bundle of rolled papers…

In terms of writing these days I am mired, knee-deep, in the squelching, quaggy plot of my novel. I’m trying to make sure that the story is fun to read, makes sense, and is historically plausible — or, at least, not blatantly inconceivable. Every time I sit to work on the…

It’s traditional around the end of the year for people to reflect on the past year, and envision wanton aspirations for the coming one. Most bloggers have, by now, posted their reflections — no doubt scrupulously prepared before the holidays, so that they can post triumphantly…