About the Blog
The phrase “be always coming home” comes from the poem “Initiation Song from the Finder’s Lodge” in Ursula K. Le Guin’s fictional anthropological study Always Coming Home.
Please bring strange things.
Please come bringing new things.
Let very old things come into your hands.
Let what you do not know come into your eyes.
Let desert sand harden your feet.
Let the arch of your feet be the mountains.
Let the paths of your fingertips be your maps
and the ways you go be the lines on your palms.
Let there be deep snow in your inbreathing
and your outbreath be the shining of ice.
May your mouth contain the shapes of strange words.
May you smell food cooking you have not eaten.
May the spring of a foreign river be your navel.
May your soul be at home where there are no houses.
Walk carefully, well loved one,
walk mindfully, well loved one,
walk fearlessly, well loved one.
Return with us, return to us,
be always coming home.
I believe in this poem (and the book from which it comes). It perfectly encapsulates how I want to experience the world—a series of adventures that result in growth and living in tandem with my environment.
Every day I go out into the world, and every day I come home with something new.
I am always thinking about how I can become a better person, how I can become a better writer, how I can become more efficient, how I can become a better partner, how I can get better organized, how I can exercise more often, how, why, what, when, where.
I am always asking questions and thinking about possible answers.
If I am pondering these things, you might think about them, too. Maybe you’ll read the words I’ve released into the wild, and maybe something I write will strike a nerve, and maybe, for a small moment, we’ll make a connection.
That’s what this space is: a digital home for my thoughts, a place for me to bring you strange and new things, a space where we can process the world together, a conduit for connecting through the power of words.
I’m glad you came in. I hope you’ve come bearing some strange, new things of your own.
Every single day of my life, I work to become a better writer.
That means writing, but it also means hiking. It means drinking tea and thinking. It means cooking, playing with my dogs, and gardening. All those things lead back to words.
So does dealing with my migraine disease, a debilitating genetic disorder that has no cure. I’m in pain every single day. Some days are worse than others. Some days I’m fine. But the pain, the brain fog, and the vertigo are always there, hovering around the edges, ready to flare up and tie me to the couch. When this happens I usually watch Bones until I feel better.
And then I write about it.
I will obsess over anything nerdy if given half a chance, but Star Wars is my first and truest obsession. I can make anything relate back to Star Wars. Some other obsessions include comics, books in general, library books in particular (they’re FREE), libraries period, science fiction, things exploding in space, Bones, blogging, Warren Zevon, sewing, Twitter, metafiction, punctuation, and audio books.
I graduated from Chatham University’s Master of Fine Arts in Creative Writing program in 2013 with concentrations in fiction and travel writing. My creative work has appeared in a solid handful of journals (check out the Writing page for links), and I’m in the process of shopping my short story collection to literary agents and independent presses.
Currently I’m working toward a Master’s of Library and Information Science at the University of Pittsburgh, which will hopefully allow me to land a job as a librarian when I graduate. This will take a few years, because I’m taking one class at a time while I continue to work full time at my local public library (which I absolutely adore).
My ultimate goal as a writer and human being is not to just open doors, but to make the walls that separate people from dreams, ideas, truth, and each other melt away. I want to enchant you with beautiful words and stories, and transport you to new places and new realities that will inspire you and connect you to parts of yourself you thought were lost forever, and parts you never knew existed.