Here’s to you, Miss Hutchinson

Here’s to you, Miss Hutchinson

As a kid who could hardly get her hands on enough library books, words meant the world to me. It wasn’t just the words I read. What people said out loud mattered, too. I was a sensitive type who withered over the cuts of cruel words, who swallowed words whole, and...
Dear baby-writer, don’t give up

Dear baby-writer, don’t give up

I like to joke that the only sign I was meant to be a writer was all that bad poetry I wrote when I was young. This phase seemed to peak in my teens. Hard emotions percolated up to the surface right after an ugly breakup or a bout of disillusionment over my...

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