Inspiration
We can’t heal from hurt if we never face it, but as children, the pain can be too big and scary to face alone.
Stories help me pry open the dusty floorboards of childhood and gaze at the murky memories underneath. As a kid, that process was too scary. I didn’t have the tools to claw at and cope with my hurt. It took 30 years to realize that the child in me had vanished—or was just really good at playing hide-n-seek.
We can’t heal from hurt if we never face it, but as children, the pain can be too big and scary to face alone.
Stories help me pry open the dusty floorboards of childhood and gaze at the murky memories underneath. As a kid, that process was too scary. I didn’t have the tools to claw at and cope with my hurt. It took 30 years to realize that the child in me had vanished—or was just really good at playing hide-n-seek.
My first two comics are the ‘missing person’ posters plastered on post-office walls, the message to the kid still inside me—the eight-year-old who loved reading comics—that pleads, “It’s time to come home.”
Stories help me feel at home again. I can simultaneously be the bald, forty-year-old writer and the kid reading comics on a cold grocery store floor. Together, we can dig up, stare down, and share our stories.
I have written these stories from my heart, and I hope they will connect with your heart, too.
My first two comics are the ‘missing person’ posters plastered on post-office walls, the message to the kid still inside me—the eight-year-old who loved reading comics— that pleads, “It’s time to come home.”
Stories help me feel at home again. I can simultaneously be the bald, forty-year-old writer and the kid reading comics on a cold grocery store floor. Together, we can dig up, stare down, and share our stories.
I have written these stories from my heart, and I hope they will connect with your heart, too.