Seven years to justice—

That's what I wanted to write when the decision came out. Days, then weeks passed with that phrase bouncing in my mind. But now, it’s not even that—it’s seven years, and counting.

In recent years, I’ve sought to expand my reading list and weed out any usual suspects, in favor of a more diverse array of subjects and authors. In honor of Pride Month, I wanted to share some of my favorite LGBTQ+ authors to expand your reading list.

I pulled a card for inspiration, not knowing where to begin. Thoughts crowded my head, scattered directions. Topics I didn't want to broach; not the right time. Not if I couldn't handle it. Not if you. Not.

Out of an endless fascination with the stories of Hannibal Lecter, and desire to write more consistently, I’ve decided to write weekly about CBS’ new show, Clarice.

A few weeks ago, I hosted an AMA over on the FAO Schwarz Fellowship Instagram page, giving prospective fellows a chance to learn more about the fellowship, right from a fellow’s mouth. Over the course of the session, I received so many thoughtful questions about the fellowship experience. But this one struck me in particular:

Do you have time for your hobbies?

At the beginning of 2020, I set a goal to read 35 books in an effort to get back to reading for pleasure. By June—halfway through the year—I reached my goal. I didn’t want to double it, but I wanted to give myself a challenge. December 28, I read my 60th book, with a total of over 17,500 pages read.

When you talk about drawing, you light up like a summer bonfire. Sparks fly from you, meandering up into the sky, alluring and addicting.

I want to rip the white, rippling sheet off the top of your head and tell you to stop playing pretend. That I’m serious this time, that I mean it. Are you really underneath? Perhaps it’s better not to know.

Despite being a writer, at the time of this incident, I didn’t write about it. Writing about it was my first impulse, but I didn’t think it deserved my time or attention. I had other things to cover in my writing. Things I deemed more important. 

In all honesty, I wasn’t ready.