It was roughly ten years ago that the editor of a small literary journal called me with an invitation to contribute. He'd seen my letter to another publication and noticed that, at least by rural standards, we lived fairly close to one another. I liked his paper, especially the book reviews, but it didn't feel like a venue where my ideas would be welcome. A nice place to visit as a reader, sure, but without…

I am a 27-year-old woman and got my driver’s license last year, and I haven’t driven since my road test. For a long time this whole story was part of my “I grew up in New York City” narrative, and to an extent that’s still where it comes from, just because driving never equalled the freedom/rite-of-passage it was for my more rural friends. But the cultural excuses only last so long, because now I am…