"John, please pull over."
We were on our way back to Williamsburg after attending a wedding in D.C. John was tired - he was a groomsman and had been, according to him, subjected to hundreds, no, thousands of photos.
On your first day of college you will think you are lost. Do not panic - you are standing right in front of your dorm without even realizing it. You will never forget what that building looks like again, and, in the future, you will smile when you think back on this memory.
Dear Mom and Dad,
Last night I cried into my pillow like the child I was once to the both of you, but this time it was not over a skinned knee or a cruel classmate or a book.
I cried because sixteen years ago you gave me a gift that I will forever be grateful for.
I’m twenty-three books into 2016.
It's been a while since I have thrown myself into stories this way. The last time I felt the way I feel now about books was when I was fifteen and confident and proud of who I was; reading was the most important thing in my life in that quiet brush of time.
Wrapped in my purple duvet, I finished A Monster Calls by Patrick Ness this week.
It had me captivated from the Author's Note:
I felt-and feel-as if I've been handed a baton, like a particularly fine writer has given me her story and said, "Go. Run with it. Make trouble." So that's what I tried to do. Along the way, I had only a single guideline: to write a book I think Siobhan would have liked. No other criteria could really matter.
I pulled myself out of the car in front of Home Goods and walked to the sliding doors and directly to the back. I was surrounded by standard patterns and the ghost of my freshman dorm room comforter. I quietly slid my eyes up and down the plastic wrap that was lined against the wall.