In memory of Parker and Ward, and all fallen comrades

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Journalists have dangerous jobs. This is not an unknown fact. But the United States of America, heck, a sleepy suburban Virginia town while interviewing a chamber of commerce member about a feel-good story… Continue reading

End the stigma: Fighting for mental health awareness on campus and after graduation

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I wrote a lot of bad poetry about rootless trees, as an angsty teen and a lonely college freshman. As an adult writer, my narratives wind around strong-spined women, stand on structure and steel. A… Continue reading

How do you say … Words as catalyst

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“How do you say ‘apricot?’” It always happens when people come together, this comparison of speech. Our different accents, languages identify us culturally, geographically. We can wear it like a name tag, calling… Continue reading

On print journalism and what I wish I’d known first

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Sometimes, when words fail, I’ll sit and listen to the rhythm of the office around me. The distribution manager talking about delivery complaints and manifests, soothing customers in her soft Canadian accent I… Continue reading

E&P 35 under 25 and what modesty really means

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Today, Editor & Publisher’s “25 under 25” list was released, including my name for improvements made under my tenure as editor in chief of The Sun. The editors had told me about the… Continue reading

A benediction of the deadline

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After I graduated from my MFA program at Goddard College, I went a little crazy. Deep in the throes of post-graduation panic (a sentence my brutal second-semester adviser would never have let stand),… Continue reading

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust

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Today is Ash Wednesday, the first day of Lent for the Catholic community. Attending Catholic school as a kid, we all filed down the hallway to the church, rustling in our starched wool… Continue reading

Pictures as memories

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  Our paper has received a lot of obituaries, the past few weeks. I think it’s the cold. Usually, we print a page of them, 10 or 12 lives memorialized by a list… Continue reading

The basketball girls

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Molly, Shawn and Krystina walked up and down the hallway, arms linked, footsteps echoing on the tiled floor, off the walls that still smelled faintly of fresh paint. Their sobs echoed too, the… Continue reading

Money can’t buy me love

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“Chair covers,” I nearly shouted, to my iPad and the cat, neither of whom were really listening too intently. “The hell needs chair covers?” And not just chair covers. Table runners, escort cards… Continue reading