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Getting more sleep wasn’t one of my New Year’s resolutions, so here I am, starting this blog post at 10 p.m., the night before I have to go back to work. December 31, 2016, after my nieces, brother, sister-in-law, and brother’s mother-in-law left me alone on the couch where I spent the last few nights
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I remember reading The Diary of Anne Frank in school. I remember reading Corrie Ten Boom’s The Hiding Place and fictional stories set during the Holocaust like Number the Stars. I remember reading those things with the not-quite-fully-realized idea that the Holocaust was a real thing that happened to real people. I distinctly remember Number the Stars and the Jewish
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The biggest thing I’ve learned in the two-plus years since I graduated college is how little I know about, really, anything. And this isn’t meant to be self-deprecating. The world is just so big and old and complicated that what little bits I know are pinpricks of light on a canvas the size of the universe.
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This past spring, I ordered a copy of Everyone Leaves Behind a Name after hearing about the book and its author, Michael Brick, on Gangrey: The Podcast. I frequently listen to podcasts like Gangrey, which interviews working narrative journalists, but this episode was different because instead of interviewing the headlining writer, all 51 minutes were a conversation
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Over vacation, I read my kid siblings the beginning of my chapter book for kids. My 9-year-old sis said to tell her when I was done so she could order it from the library. I told her I’d have her read it before it was published. A day later, I explained the concept of publishing
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Hawkins’ words don’t paint lush portraits or jump to poetic heights. They’re too busy drawing you close to the characters, especially Rachel whose perspective begins and ends the book. As you read, you immerse into the complexity that is a human being whose past she both regrets and can’t leave behind.
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Grappling with privilege and the mess made by people who look like me. JULY 7, 2016. EVENING. I’m not sure what to make of today. The country is again drawing lines in the sand because two more black men were gunned down this week for no reason. Fathers. Involved in their kids’ lives. Not drug
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A book recommendation, straight from the non-air conditioned apartment where I carry my fan around like a security blanket: To the Letter: A Celebration of the Lost Art of Letter Writing by Simon Garfield “They expose a grand truth, and often the same truth we may feel when we read Shakespeare and Austen: no matter how
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Uncovering lies, leaving untrustworthy excuses, and chasing God’s calling. I was on the mat, 40 pushups behind me and gearing up for the next part of my workout, when I saw an athlete bite it on the treadmill. He, along with three other incoming freshmen, was trying out for the men’s soccer team. The assistant
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“Crap. Crap. Mega crap.” That’s what I thought when I read my draft three days later. This is what I (re)learned while revising.
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Meredith Sell 