It started like this: I was sitting in a faculty meeting, and I was bored, so I checked my email. “About a Book” was the message I clicked on, and it was from Laura Barkat. I figured she wanted me to write about a book, but what she was inquiring about was whether or not I’d be interested in writing a book.
“Think about it,” she wrote. “You’ll have to want to go into the woods, without concern for how you’ll come back, but I’d like to take a chance on you.”
And so the work began. It’d be something about clothes, something about stories, something about writing. It’d be about trying a story on like I try on clothes, and it’d be about walking around in that world for a while. It’d be about Eve, and my elementary school librarian who told me one barely there spring day to turn around and look at the growing leaves. “Things are changing,” she’d said. It’d be about the librarian next door, who showed me how to shelve books, and it’d be about an Irish knit sweater Jesse gave me for Christmas one year. It’d be about Erasmus and Sharon Creech, my yellow coat, and my mom’s suede duster she almost didn’t have. It’d be about both my Grandmothers, and it’d be about my cousin Tara and my best friend Celena, the Chicago skyline, the Sears Tower, Where the Wild Things Are, and it’d be about Miles Davis’ music, teaching in Detroit, a pair of orange heels, my great teaching friend, Monique, my other great teaching friend Stephanie, Anna Kamienska’s poetry, an opal ring, Gary Schmidt’s writing, and Whidbey Island.
There are lots of layers to this book, and I am reminded about a conversation my mom and I had time and time again when the topic of what to wear came up. I’ve never liked an obvious outfit. I’ve always liked to tear things apart and see what else they’d go with; how else they could be used; what new story I’d find myself in when I wore them.
Twirl: My Life With Stories, Writing & Clothes comes out this year, and I’m equally excited and nervous for this gal to take her first steps. She has stories to tell, and they are joyful and hilarious, awkward and sad, but I hope readers will see they are all filled to the brim with love. Because, I think that’s how the greatest stories begin.
Read a chapter from the book, “Leftover Astonishments,” about my friend Stephanie, the neighbor ladies across the street, and a pot of leftover chili, here (it is for Patrons only, but consider becoming one. You’ll get lots of great behind the scenes information on the making of books, extra essays, and great conversations).
You can pre-order the Kindle version of the book on here. The paperback version will be available for order early February.
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