About Me — Rewritten

A blustery wind screeches outside.

Howling, the throat of a wolf borne. Banging against shutters and loudly whispering into the dark.

Inside, she sits in the warm cozy light of the swinging chandelier in the rustic living room of the house she had moved into eight months earlier and had caulked to keep the bugs out. Her back is arched, thoughts swirling in a matrix like superhuman holding crystals in suspension, her penmanship poised, extended.. about to,

Write.

Writing has always felt deeply human to me. A hesitant, trembling word was written. Then another, and another, and then a rambling, messy outpouring of thoughts and mistakes and your grandmother’s death and that time you tried sex in an orange Volkswagen, and when your friend kissed you at a concert and you felt.. that way.

Pieces. Looking at real moments and pieces of my single experience, make me think about how many pieces are in the puzzles of other people, how many of those pieces have crossed my pieces and how people influence each other, it’s a surreal and utterly intimate feeling, writing (I have Rebecca Solnit to thank for making me more unabashed to roll the first rock in an avalanche of words).

It’s been 16 years since I began writing word avalanches. 3 years since I began sharing them on Medium.