I don’t want this to be one of those posts that outlines the grand mission of my blog in broad, sweeping gestures like Julie Andrew frolicking on a hill in Austria.
I work roughly 25 hours a week and am waiting for the last two Creative Writing MFA programs I’ve applied to to reject me like the other five already have. My grandma just died, and a few days ago I split with the guy I’ve been dating for five months because HEY! He was sleeping with his ex.
If my story seems blunt, that’s good. I won’t lie here. The best stories are true, or a version of the truth that may be truer in its embellishment. Besides, in telling stories, we might discover that another version feels truer because it means more and makes us feel better.
I want to feel better. I feel better when I bake and when I write. I also feel better when I listen to people tell stories about their lives and how they got through the gnarly patches. Or how they met their spouses. Or how you should always remember to soften the butter before you bake anything (unless we’re talking pastry).
So I thought I’d feed people cookies and talk to them and listen to what they say. If they’re feeling generous, I’ll put their stories on this blog. The stories might be happy or sad or long or short, or not stories at all. Read them. Then I’ll teach you how to make the cookies I fed them and you can make the cookies. Eat them. This is how this might go.
Want to tell me a story? Want to eat a cookie? That’s all we need to begin.