The Notebook
The first thing Vincent does every morning is check that the notebook is still there. It sits on the left side of his desk, black cover worn soft at the corners, pages swollen with ink and humidity from the Springfield summer. He does not open it right…
The Story Is Still Being Written
I have published seven poetry collections. I have been featured on Spectrum News 1. I have given books away to people who could not afford them, because I always believed that words should reach whoever needs them — not just whoever can pay. I built .…
The Man Today
Today, I live in Western Massachusetts. My life is quieter than it used to be. But quieter does not always mean easier. Trauma has a way of staying with you. PTSD does not leave just because the circumstances change. Old memories can make simple moments…
Portland — Never Seen, But Always Heard
I did not arrive in Portland, Maine as someone who had everything figured out. I arrived carrying years of experiences, pain, and memories I had never fully processed. The worst thing that happened to me in Portland happened first. I was raped. I am not…
The Exit
The way I left Holyoke wasn’t cinematic. There was no moment of clarity. No morning I woke up and decided I was done. The decision got made for me — my landlord called a raid on my place, and just like that, the chapter ended the way it began.…
Franklin Street
I was twenty-two years old when I landed on Franklin Street in Holyoke, Massachusetts. I didn’t arrive with a plan. I arrived carrying the weight of everything that had already begun to fall apart. Somewhere between the person I had been and the…
Mina
After I left home, I coped the way a lot of people do when they don’t know what else to do. I drank. I had a group of eight friends I’d grown close to after high school — people I saw every day, people who became their own kind of family when…
The Years In Between
After leaving home, life became about survival. When my mother went to jail for thirty days, I moved in with my aunt. Eventually I reached a point where I didn’t have a stable place to go. I became a nanny because I needed somewhere to be. It was…
The Night I Left
I was eighteen years old the night I got into my mother’s car and didn’t look back. I don’t remember everything about that night in the way you remember a normal evening. I remember the feeling. Sad. Lost. Confused. My mind was already…
The Library Where It Began
Every writer has a beginning. Mine happened in a library. I was thirteen years old, sitting in the East Longmeadow library with Sue, the librarian. I had just finished reading The Boy in the Striped Pajamas. The story affected me deeply. It made me think…