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Writing

When the Kid that People Told to Shut Up Grows Up to Be an Author

I learned early on to hide my notebooks. My mom would find them anyway and destroy them. One time, she even pitched one into the fireplace. I got called “devil spawn” if I wrote with profanity or anything that was considered out there in my strict religious home (spoiler: a lot was considered “out there” in my strict religious home).

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a photograph featuring many, many open books
Writing

I Wish Words Did More

The truth is that once upon a time, I thought words were limitless. And that I could be limitless, too — if only I could get good enough at expressing myself. That if I could simply string together the correct combination of words that I could unlock the doors that I watched my friends walk effortlessly through. The ones that were opened via the elite summer boarding programs that their parents wrote the big checks for.

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