For Molly

I began reading at a young age, going so far as to read my first “adult” book at age 11 (Jurassic Park). This eventually blossomed into a love of creating stories. I would come up with these elaborate stories for my friends about our futures (often featuring the boys we had crushes on). So, in high school, I decided I wanted to be a writer, even going so far to promise my bestie in her yearbook that I would dedicate my first published novel to her. Yeah, I have not published my book yet, but life gets in the way, you know. Paths change, along with priorities. But that doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing.

This same bestie has a family that I spent more time with than my own at the time, becoming a member of the family. Bestie had an amazing grandmother that I even called Nana. She was the most amazing and supportive person anyone could ask for. Everything you want in a nana. She read everything I wrote. And was constantly begging me for more.

Sidenote: the main reason I am not a published writer is that terrible monster known as Imposter Syndrome, and he is a dick. Self-confidence is not something I have in abundance, but I am getting better as I work on my thesis and workshops in my MFA program at Emerson. One has to share their work. Period. And I am learning that feedback makes you a better writer, and not everyone will love or appreciate my work, and that’s okay.

Nana, aka Molly, has been battling cancer for a long time now. But she went south very quickly and sadly passed away in April. There was a hole left in me. My biggest fan. The only person alive who had read everything I wrote and was constantly begging me for more. It makes me sad that she will not see my words in print. I know she was proud of me, and that she loved my writing.

I love you, Molly, and I miss you. And I promise to make you proud.