I’ve never stopped to consider what or why I love to read; I just read. I’m addicted to buying books, and this is considered a huge problem when I reflect on the fact that I have no space for all of them. There is simply no where to put another bookshelf. My two key interests are novels and history and I have just now discovered that what ties the two together is the stories of people. History is not just composed of great names and places; at its core is the ordinary citizen. In the same way, society does not revolve around the model citizen, but also around the outsiders and the rule breakers. Stories lie with the daring and the daring are often portrayed as the ordinary. The material that I read warps this fact by illuminating the reasoning of the “outsider,” the repressed and the insignificant citizen who’s ready for a change. Without flaws, the ordinary would not become a story. That’s what I hope to accomplish in my own writing; I want to take the ordinary and twist it into a story. I want to tell the story of people.
I am, like everyone else, a list of identities. I am a college student, a writer, a reader, a soccer fan, a worrier, both independent and dependent, a friend, a sister, organized until lack of time prevails, a leader, a follower, fond of sleep and bad at getting it, an amateur artist, a thinker, a collector and just your overall observer of the world we live in.