ABSTRACT
We’ve made it. We’ve made it to the end of this tale for now, and I’m still telling. Now that we’ve been where we’ve been, I want us to go where we’re going, or where I think we’re going. As I write, I remember my mother, who passed on her “writing spirit” to me, and reflect upon my instincts to write my life. I would witness her write herself into and out of situations, write herself notes to change past perceptions of her world; and now I imagine myself into the future, or I think I do. And often I ask myself who would my audience be, what would they think, what would they do with my thoughts? And would they know that these collected lived experiences are only fragments of who I am, captured instances, t(horny) coming of age stories, heartbreak, and hatred of self. Would they recognize the love in these pages too; love for my family, love for God, and love for self?
