Here I am, my first day at Camp Olympia. Those feet already had the best Teva tan.

When I was at camp the summer before I turned thirteen, my cabin mates were all sitting around the fire, talking over each other, comparing their hopes and dreams. I was not talking. I rarely talked then. I listened, nauseated, afraid I was going to be asked a question, afraid…

Everything a Pottermore writer needs. (My wand is teak, with dragon heartstring.)

Eighteen years ago, I was sleeping over at a friend’s house, and waiting for her to wake up. She usually slept until noon. It was seven in the morning. But I was lucky, because her dad had a career in publishing. Maybe he was an editor? An agent? I don’t…

All I wanted, but with more brownie. Source.

All I wanted to do was make brownie sundaes and watch Archer in the cool basement. Instead I was arguing about fire safes. I was aware of my dramatic delivery when I said, “I had dreams, once!” But I wasn’t entirely joking. I don’t think I ever ever ever wiled…

Courtney Adams

Broad and difficult. I write about everything, maybe even you. Some is fact, some is fiction. You can figure it out.

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