“I write because I don't know what I think until I read what I say.”
— Flannery O’Connor
The act of writing
is an act of resistance.
We don’t have time. We don’t know how. We are told we have nothing to say or that our words don’t matter.
All of that is nonsense.
Resist. Do it anyway. See what happens.
My grandmother, Frankie Queen, looking incredible beside an airplane in 1979. So much of my writing is inspired by the women surrounding me.
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When I was a teenager, I carried around these little notebooks, usually with a vinyl plastic cover, and filled them with everything from to-do lists, notes from friends, doodles, and ideas. They were quite literally an extension of me—like a limb. As an adult, I am much the same, always looking for some place to write down an idea or thought. Much like the old days of those little plastic notebooks, think of my Substack like passing a note with a friend. I share things I’m loving—either in real life or on the internet—stories about my life as a teacher and mother, and sometimes poetry or something creative.
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I look at these photos now and see the memories surrounding the moment of the photo, the things I should have been thinking about instead of my body.