This is the first in a series of essays called the The Misfits' Project. Through telling my story I have been fortunate enough for others to share their stories of survival with me. I am humbled and honored, and I hope and pray that I give their stories the justice that they are due.
This is based on a true story as told to me by Ginger. The names and some identifying factors have been changed, and some creative license has been taken, but the story remains. The pictures are from Ginger's personal collection and are used with her permission.
This is Ginger's Story. This is her truth.
Read More
They, six of them, all hopped out of the beat up white Honda. Grinning. Snickering. Rubbing their hands together as they broke into a jog...realizing that their hoodies looked cool, but were no match for the bitter West Virginia in December wind.
Full of hormones. Vitality. High on shitty weed.
Plaid boxers peaking out of their too big jeans. It was meant to look haphazard, but it was purposeful, dutiful. Their shoes, sneakers, meticulously white. Serious business. Their hats. Fitted. Color coordinated with the hoodies. Yankees. Always Yankees. They had never been to New York. Hell, they had never been to Pittsburgh. Yet they sported the Yankees. Swagger. Domination. Riches.
Read More
Ok, not quite Rolling Stone, and not quite the cover, but I did have my first article published in the July edition of the totally awesome Charlotte Magazine!
Running Away to Home
