For the past three years, I’ve lived a life of all in. I have my square day job. But my passion is my novel. Not surprising my story explores my provincial thought of the day.

Imagine a round wooden peg like the ones toddlers play with. They have to fit it in the round hole. Easy enough. So why is it that most people try and cram themselves, often beating themselves in the head, into a square hole? Not only is the round peg damaged, frustrated, but the square hole is frayed and still square.

Shouldn’t life be as simple as fitting the round peg in the round hole? If your passion is Whoppah! Gung Fu, and you knew Whoppah! style was kick ass. Shouldn’t you follow your dream of opening a Whoppah! dojo and teach other people how to Whoppah!?

Isn’t it right that we should put all our eggs in one basket?

The dudes that sit in their highchairs, my managers, want to move me to an office where the energy sucks. Other people have said the same. They know I don’t like the energy, and, by moving me there, I’ll have to drive there, polluting the air. They don’t care.

And I’m the round peg that they’re trying to fit in their square hole. What should the long round peg do?

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