Because It Was All I Could Think About

Posted: November 27, 2015 by Rachel

I take my seat on the worn, red chair with the sliver of sunlight shining on it, and pull my MacBook from my purse. I’ve positioned myself in the fiction section between shelves sixteen and seventeen, somewhere amongst Davis-Downs and Doyle-Evaristo. I can see the covers of Evanovich and Griffin, Grisham and Eugenides; the latter being one of my favorite recent reads. My love of writing is succeeded only by my love of reading, so it’s no real surprise that I like to settle in here at the library to write down the words swimming in my head. The only…

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