I thrive on writing. It’s freeing, and it feels as if that since the very beginning, my imagination has been running on the spill of punctuation and the doting tilde of analogies and similes. Coming more naturally to me than anything else and a forever love despite not being the most avid reader; I’ve taken it upon me to push forward with this mess. An angsty teenager with a pen and the Goodreads quote section for Chuck Palahniuk or the HelloPoetry collective of Allen Ginsberg is recipe for crisis. So, I published a chapbook that contains a collection of my poetry and am in process of continuing a winter novel that has become so much more than I initially anticipated. Read more to find out about them, and stuff.
In all honesty; as much as I love to write and conjure words with the wand of only pen and paper — I barely read. This was an exception, for the first time in a long time. I was looking for something to relate to, something real and raw – a type that we often yearn for in books but never find, after all — they’re all fantasies, things to long for, to desire — when I wanted something that I could see myself in. Through my search, I had discovered Hold Still by Nina Lacour, and despite going into it without a single amount of hope nor expectation, I came out with a desire to share this book with others. Imperfect and utterly flawed yet powerful and emotional, it stirs something inside of you with how its written and carefully handcrafted. Described as a riveting tale of a teenage girl dealing with the loss of her friend; the discovery of a journal, the remorse and guilt that comes with it as well as the healing process — this book, although far from perfect was exceedingly real. That is what I look for in pieces of writing, and that is what I love.