What book saved me?

I stopped reading when I was about six. That’s strange to say, right? Here I am: a storyteller, a writer. But I also have a tough past with reading. Around first grade, I got tired of being tested for reading. I hated reading something just to get brought hard comprehension questions. I didn’t understand any … Continue reading What book saved me?

Real Monsters

I used to believe that monsters lived under my bed. They loved scaring me in the dark. “That’s where they stay,” Society told me. “Where they belong.” But Society also ordered me to keep my stomach flat so people would like me. Short hair was for men. Lesbian. I couldn’t drive. I couldn’t lift anything … Continue reading Real Monsters

Writing Every Day

Writing every day used to be an ideal, a goal. I thought that I must be getting somewhere if I improved my skill every day. I had to be. How else was I going to improve other than just writing more? I'd write even if it wasn't good writing. To practice was to get better … Continue reading Writing Every Day