In middle school, I kept spiral notebooks in the top drawer of my nightstand. Some were intended to be used for school, with 80 letter-sized, college-ruled pages to fill; others small enough to slip into the secret pocket of my backpack.

The stories I wrote back then never traveled further than my best friend’s eyes; her distinct handwriting scrawled in the margins encouraged me to keep sharing my voice.

I’ll be forever grateful I chose to listen to her.

I built my identity around words — books read during shadowed hours of the night, while I listened to the house groan under the weight of harboring the silent conversations of six people; song lyrics echoing emotions I dreamt of feeling and, more often, commiserating those I felt; and the ones I put to the page, each push of my pencil across paper saving my skin.

This is where they’ve led me.

I hope you enjoy the journey as much as I have.

Happy reading (and writing),

Kelsi Swenson