Epistle: The Shadow of Winter (November 12, 2025)
The title of this piece is a necessary confession: the first installment of The Savannah Story is not yet complete. It has unfolded in such a manner that I am structuring it into a series of posts, and being new to the authorial craft, I am putting great effort into making this foundation as solid as possible. While I work toward posting Part One, allow me a moment to update you on some of the goings-ons in the life of your resident destitute author.
Last month, I attempted to get a gig with a food delivery platform, grasping for any means to earn money and escape the constant urgency of the streets. I allowed myself a fleeting moment of optimism about the prospect of paid work. That hope was predictably crushed when the company rejected my application, citing dismissed, false allegations filed years ago. It was a pathetic, unbelievable excuse—another instance of how bureaucracy can weaponize paperwork against a person attempting to stand back up. It's an infuriating contrast: in the public square, the most brazenly corrupt are elevated to positions of power and showered with riches, while those of us simply asking for an affordable, stable life are denied even the chance to work as a humble delivery driver.
I continue to attempt progress on my path as an author, though to date I have yet to earn a single dollar from my words. I confess that the endeavor seems impossible; the world seems engineered to reward the most psychopathically ruthless among us while crushing the rest. I carry a profound sense of loss for the family and friends I hold only in my memory, and the grim reality of my circumstances is inescapable. Yet, despite these bleak truths, I persist. My commitment to becoming a better writer provides just enough purpose and foolish hope to justify continuing on this journey.
The library had a small renaissance fair around Halloween and the children truly seemed to enjoy it, so I didn't mind the commotion distracting me from my literary labor. The vendors selling crafts and the activities inside and outside the building were a simple delight of community gathering. Though I was filled with a deep, isolated longing for all that I have lost, it was a heart-warming temporary comfort to witness the families laughing and having fun. It was a painful, beautiful reminder of the simple joys this struggle keeps inaccessible beyond my reach.
Daylight savings time ended November 2nd, and as Earth orbits into winter, the days are getting shorter and colder. We had our first freeze warning a few days ago, and I have started using my sleeping bag to stay warm not only at night, but during the day when the library is closed. It's going to be a long winter.
I continue to rely heavily on the local food pantry. I've noticed a substantial increase in the number of people seeking assistance since the government shutdown, a sight that serves as a chilling testament to the political indifference of those who would willingly starve the poor to leverage their agendas.
In spite of everything—the cold, the hunger, the crushing despair—I am continuing to work on my writing. I hold fast to the hope that, through my words, I will be able to obtain the resources needed to reclaim my life. Hopefully, by next week, The Savannah Story: Part One will be ready to post. Until then, remember to take a moment to fully appreciate the people and small things in your life that offer joy and hope, for sic transit gloria—glory fades.