My cinnamon toast looked beautiful on the white plate this morning as I sliced it. Slicing makes it finger food. Slicing can be useful as in parsing our food.
Slicing can be painful if it is cutting away skin on a finger or nipping off the edge of something as in a cut. It may require band aids.
Slicing implies a swift movement and water craft may slice through turbulence at high speed. A hard rain’s droplets seem to slice through the atmosphere. Slicing gives the sense of waves cutting through other waves, as in sound waves, radio waves, light waves.
No matter how you slice it is a funky chic idiom for point of view. Point of view, perspective, does matter greatly yet who ever takes the trouble to really look at all the points of view?
How is a slice of life like a slice of anything else? Time, small moments in time can be viewed like a piece of toast on a plate. The slices are sometimes asking to be written but they are painful. Just because they stand out in our nerve gallery does not necessarily mean we want to commit them to words. If a writer does narrate it is likely to be a skim over the surface. And the tendency to want to be justified is like gravity. Our minds ball these things up into sealed packages, little summaries to leave alone.
So I’ve spent my morning time at my writing desk avoiding talking about a troubled 4th grade boy in my first reading group who has difficulty controlling his emotions.