I remember this age. Even now, I can see you.
You’re sitting on the slant of the roof. A dormer window allows you a bit of freedom, a smidge of rebellion. You have the attic mostly to yourself, a gift from the men of your church who spent sweaty August hours converting the space. You take pride in decorating it, setting up a desk, putting a calendar on the wall and creating soft light with a little white lamp. You sit and pick up the pen, one of those silvery blue ones with a fuzzy ball at the end, and you open the book.
Dear Diary, you write. You’re my only friend.
My friend Annmarie is hosting a series called "Letter to My Younger Self," and she was kind enough to include me in it. I absolutely wince with humility to remember myself at 12, so I welcomed the opportunity to give myself a couple tips. :) Pop on over to her blog to read the rest and make sure you check out her book, The Long & the Short of It.