Posts Tagged ‘introduction’

Born in north Jersey, I spent a few years of my early childhood playing acrobats in the evenings with my father, dancing to Sesame street songs, and going to bed with pink curlers in my hair. I survived my adolescence in busy Los Angeles through shopping trips with my mother, my high school English teachers, and bleached blond hair. I went searching for this thing called “myself” in humid New Orleans, and ended up finding out how to eat boiled crawfish, the potentiality for evil in human nature when flooded out by mother nature, and my calling in life: Writing.

So, here I am. In Austin, “the oasis of Texas” as one of my poetry professors once said. And, in some ways, it has been my oasis from a tumultuous life in Post-Katrina New Orleans. Living in a “One Dead in Attic” mentality had aged me out of my early twenties and into an ageless state of cynicism and woe. I now have my tiny apartment adorned with tiny treasures from my travels abroad in Paris, Venice, London, and my short stay in Boston in the fall of 2005. And of course, I now have a magnificent man in my life, The Chemist.

The scenes of my apartment best describe me. My Miles Davis poster from Hollywood is taped tight to my fridge door; an Indian ivory salt and pepper shaker brought back from my grandfather in WWII accompanies family photos on a bookshelf. Dried roses from my mother rest in my grandmother’s old vase atop a chest I acquired in New Orleans. Spices on my kitchen sit on a shelf with an old broken rosary belonging to my great grandmother.

My bookshelves are packed with an eclectic mix of goods from SoCal wacky to Parisian tacky with a giant, silver Effiel Tower candle propped next to my signed copy of Candace Bushnell’s ‘Trading Up’. She wished me ‘Good Luck in Writing’ in big, black permanent ink, and it’s something that I look at every day, something that breaks the writer’s block.

I am my bookshelves in a way. I’m packed with literature, from Chaucer to Hemingway. I value and display my books, my trinkets, my rosary collection, and even the 40 some odd Pez dispensers that are lined up like a choir on the top left shelf. I am not just one thing- I’m not just a writer, or a woman, or a high school actress, or a daughter, or a girlfriend- I’m all of those things and hopefully more.

I find my creativity is best unleashed for the world to see, rather than bottled up. I struggle daily with my level of confidence- I don’t give myself enough credit. My friends tell me I’m beautiful and I believe that they need an eye exam.

But, when you boil it down, at heart I am that construction paper book written in crayon when I was a young girl, tucked away on the bottom corner of the shelf, innocent, full of color and life, and waiting for someone to open me up and read me. But, I need to open me up first, write the stories that I was born to write, publish those stories for the masses, and really learn how to live and love life.

Joyce Carol Oates’ advice from one of her books is for young writers it to “write [their] hearts out.”

3 Women is just one of many facets of my heart.


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