Dear friends —

This morning I submitted my first real, official piece of freelance copy editing.  It felt wonderful.  My days are filling quickly now that training for my new job has started, and I’m eager to settle into a routine that I set.  Blogging will be among the scheduled activities, to be sure.  Speaking of business, little photos of me by the ever-lovely Heather Terry Photography have popped up in my online world.  Sidebar and About pages feature a me that’s a little more current!

Anyway. To the real reason I’m writing.

I’ve been putting off posting this for a few days.

Partly because this book I’ve been reading is on everyone’s list, it seems, and is so blogged about and even made the New York Times bestseller list, and I just don’t know what else I can say about it.

But mostly because I want it all to myself.  Not in the “you can’t read it” kind of way — read it all you want.  But tell you about it? How could I possibly start? (Not to mention I’ve even participated in this book’s following without even knowing. Without even knowing.)


This book feels like home to me.  The way Ann Voskamp writes poems into prose; the way she switches up tenses and turns nouns into adjectives in the exact way I hope for when I tell students to “learn the rules so you can break them”; the way she delves fearlessly into her real, hard sorrow, and comes up with beauty.  I have mostly abandoned screens during evenings this week and retreated into my headphone world with pencil and journal and have read this precious book, and have written more poetry lately (and with more importance) than in the last year because of it.

I don’t want to say anything else about it.  It speaks for itself better than I ever could.  Please, please read it.

I won’t be sharing any of the poems I wrote this week, but I hope to be writing some soon that I could maybe, possibly post.

What is the most beautiful, soul-scraping book you’ve ever read?

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