For the freshmen, Ikenfell is a turn-based RPG developed by Vancouver-based Happy Ray Games. It follows the adventures of "ordinary" teen Maritte, as she breaks into a magical school in search of her missing sister. Originally Kickstarted in 2016, the promise of queer Hogwarts instantly captivated many muggles still heartbroken over their own missing acceptance letters.

I'd have been satisfied with that premise alone. But it also has a surprising amount to say about trust, isolation, and healing process for post-traumatic stress.

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Today is Transgender Day of Remembrance (TDoR), and the capstone of Transgender Awareness Week. Many of our peers here at WillowTree identify as transgender, so the Pride ERG worked really hard to assemble these resources for you all. In this article, we’ll talk about why we observe TDoR, about what it means to be transgender, the issues faced by the trans community today, and how you can support your transgender friends and loved ones.

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I'm on a quest to read the founding texts of WillowTree, in part because I like learning stuff, but also because the air outside is poisonous and society is constantly two skips away from supernova.

Anyway here are my notes on Never Split the Difference, by Chris Voss. Sleep tight!

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WillowTree has a growing list of career development resources which are foundational to its core values and culture. There's usually a solid pamphlet worth of valuable information in them, but you can't sell a pamphlet so the authors keep writing books instead.

I'm on a mission to condense each one of these texts into its most salient points. I'll read them, so you don't have to.

Let's start with The Progress Principle, by Teresa Amabile and Steven Kramer.

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It's been a long time since I've attempted to write poetry, so I thought I'd have a go at it.

As a bonus, I rediscovered what must be the last poem that I had written. I was still in high school at the time, and it is delightful. I've included it here at the end, for your enjoyment.

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Anna arrived at seven for sentencing.

The door was closed, the hallway silent. Narrow bulbs buzzed and flickered overhead, the glass in harsh contrast to the dried out husks of moths, and worse. She checked the crumpled piece of paper in her fist again. There was still time to run.

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