why am i writing this blog?

bunny-meal

I have always been a thinker, and because of that, a writer. My earliest memories of writing fall around the time I was 8 years old, dragging my Keds lightly through the dirt as I half-swung on the rubber seat of the playhouse equipment in the backyard, pen in hand, clicking and clicking and thinking and writing, all the agonizing details of my charmed small-town life. As an only child, I was enamored with solitude and consumed by my overactive imagination.

And so, I wrote. I think I wrote because my thoughts were non-freaking-stop. I had to get them out and on to paper before they spilled out my eyeballs and shot out my ears. At least if I wrote them down, there they were for constant reference. I had thought them, and I had written them, and I no longer had to keep them inside my swelling brain. And then, voila! Room for more thoughts.

And so this cycle continued into my exhausting adolescence, at which time I began, like so many millienials, writing publicly online. And this journal became my therapy. I wrote about everything. If I read these entries now, I can literally see my teenage self grow up before my eyes. I discovered myself and sorted out my core values. I became vegetarian, and then vegan.   I was angry and bitter and heavy with the weight of these new discoveries, and I wanted everyone to know! I wrote obsessively from a place of angsty compassion deep within my heart.  My thinking fueled my veganism.  My veganism fueled my writing.  My writing fueled more thinking.

Continue…

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veganecdotes: tiny tales from the life of a vegan.

I am constantly moved by the power of personal narrative.  It was only when I started to hear the stories of that one day, where that one thing happened, to that one person, or that one animal, that the dots began to connect.  So these are my little stories.

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