![]() ![]() ![]() It was not what I, the consummate city girl, had ever pictured for myself, but it was an adventure. With him, I ended up living a very different life that included cooking professionally in Alaska during the summer and wintering in a tiny town in the North Cascade Mountains. I know, right?Īs a young adult, I thought I was going to tell my stories as a documentary filmmaker, but somehow in between my undergraduate film degree and my acceptance to an MFA program at a California film school, my life took a turn. ![]() The storytelling continued throughout my scholastic career, including my penning a play for the fourth grade about chickens going on strike right before Easter, writing stories condemning vandalism for the middle school newspaper, and contributing enigmatic poems about emotional nakedness to my high school’s literary magazine. And, well, maybe I just had had a lot of them. Some might say I was a little kid who never stopped talking, but I think it was the beginning of my love of story. Sometimes at dinner during those years, my spaghetti would go ice cold because I’d be spinning a narrative instead of eating. Long-winded tales that lasted all the way from the school parking lot to our driveway. ![]() My dad says that when I was in Kindergarten, I would tell him scintillating tales of crayon snatchers and mean lunch ladies. ![]()
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