I’m an emerging author based out of Denver, Colorado. My essays focus on family, history, and culture.
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Recent Work
Nature evolves and revolves through cycles. Birth, life, and death are looped endlessly, depending on one another in an ecological system that is meant to sustain itself. Writing is cyclical, as well. An idea can germinate and grow, while other ideas die off or are resurrected elsewhere. And like a graveyard, our writing will either be remembered, forgotten, or destroyed by others.
The first time I remember receiving feedback on my writing was from my fifth-grade teacher. I do not remember her name, but our class was given the assignment to read Cheaper by the Dozen and write a book report. I do not believe that I read the book, nor did I write an original report. I think I just copied from the encyclopedia in those days.
For my family, summer in Turner Station was synonymous with crab feasts, with newspaper on the picnic table loaded with mallets, metal crackers and picks, and beer for the adults. Our small town outside of Baltimore City sat on a river and erupted with various hues of green from the trees, bushes, and grasses. The bright golden sun was situated as a spotlight in the true-blue skies, the white cotton-ball clouds shaped like circus animals. The breeze from the river was pungent yet salty. As the oldest grandchild and child in the Scotland and Drexel Harris clan, I would learn to eat crabs—or not eat at all—during this sacred and frenzied tradition.