Nonfiction

I spent last night at my grandma's. I came home after watching the Reds lose (again) to the St. Louis Cardinals and found my downstairs neighbor, beer in hand, telling me "power's out." My bedroom's in the attic; the temperature midday gets to 99 degrees with the fan on. Without packing so much as a toothbrush, I got back in my car and drove the 30 minutes east of my apartment. It was worth it to sleep in an air-conditioned house, watch The Daily Show, and eat bacon and eggs for breakfast.

The wordpress site is coming together. I have a nonfiction page with a selection of posts from the past two years. I thought they were ones that could stand without context. I also have a "works in progress" page, where I'm posting pieces of a story as I write it. Of course, a story will get changed a hundred times--in ways big and small--before it's finished.

It's incredibly scary putting stuff out there: admitting, this is what I'm doing, this is who I am. It's just a start; I've got a long way to go. But I need to start somewhere.