5 Reasons I'm A Writer

1. I hate getting dressed up. 2. That annoying girl in middle school who always had to find out everyone’s secrets? Yeah, that was me. 3. I like high-risk, time-consuming hobbies, but moto-cross is too dusty. 4. Straight As in Typing. 5. Making up stories and saying them out loud to strangers on the bus was not working for me.

After.

Last year, because we were traveling over Christmas, I made a book tree out of all the books that have influenced me. It's here, in case you doubt me, of ye of little faith. I'm kind of ashamed to admit that because of the year I've had, the furious busy-ness, the illness, the sadness, and yes, the leftover laziness, that tree remained up until today. Seriously. So why not just keep it there right? No, this year, of all years, we need a real tree. A real tree because we're home, and I love them, and because I just finished a novel set on an evergreen farm. This year, we need to pay homage to the evergreen. Finally, today, I did what needed to be done. I put the books back on the shelves in the living room, in the cabinet in the den, in the curio on the landing, in the huge bedside tables. Yes, we have books in every room again. But instead of storing the lights, I put them up a little earlier. Still lazy, you see.