By Amanda Frazier Timpson

Like you, I’m someone who has racked up some rough miles. My shell and my soul don’t quite jive. The scars on my mind and body are a road map to where I’ve been.

Almost two years ago, I was unfulfilled and unemployed. The lack of occasion to use my journalism degree weighs on me. It’s a slow, grating kind of oppressive weight like gaining 10 pounds of disappointment every year until one day you look down and realize your aspirations (and your waistline) have disappeared.
Fourteen years ago, my career plans collided with a speeding car. By the time I could walk again the internet had come along and changed everything I thought I knew about journalism. The upside was that I could work from anywhere, but so could everyone else. In the same way smart phones made everyone a photographer, the indiscriminate availability of blogging platforms made everyone a journalist of sorts. I’m not saying that’s necessarily a bad thing. Sure it made landing a paid gig a lot harder, but it also opened a floodgate of ideas and community. Now everyone who wants one can have a voice.
Arise Ink is my voice. It’s about giving readers new ways to think about old ideas, like all the ways we’re different from each other, all the ways we’re the same and the value of empathy. Most of all, I try to polish up the pain and suffering of oppressed and marginalized people until it’s so reflective we can all see ourselves in it.

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