I’m never entirely sure why I read, or write, but it definitely always feels like a reminder. A reminder that words, enough of them, might explain problems that I can’t or get me out of cyclical thought patterns or allow me to explore new ways of being in the world.
This Is What It’s Like
You scan the area, the distance to your car. Extra cautious if it’s early morning or late at night.
And vice versa; if you park your car in your driveway or parking lot near your apartment, you wonder how quickly you can make it to your door without being noticed. You wonder who is watching and what they might do if they see no one else is around. You hold your breath as you damn near run after locking your car, keys prepared to unlock your door as quickly as possible. You make it inside and automatically lock the door behind you. You do this several times everyday.
The Road Almost Not Taken — And the Books that Lead Me Down It
I grew up in the epitome of small town America in the middle of the Midwest. Because of this and the lack of variety that often accompanies this lifestyle, I fell in love with storytelling from a young age.
A Lifelong Obsession
I have received many bits of advice over the years—some sound, some idiotic. But the most solid was: your writing cannot improve if you don't read. And not just in whatever genre you've chosen to pursue, but widely.
I Could Tell You Stories
Many a kid at Olympic High regarded getting Ms. Furr for English in the same light as a prison sentence, but for me, it was the best part of my day.
Books, The Expansive
At an early age, they loved reading so much that they yearned to talk back, to join the discussion, to write.