It Takes a Village…

Sorry for the delay in this post, folks! I was spending a wonderful weekend with my writer’s group. So I say I’m sorry, but really I’m not because instead of blog stuff, I got to write lots and lots of fiction that I’m feeling really good about. There is something energizing that comes from spending time with other creative-types and investing in one another’s work. So this is going up a few hours late, but it is here like I promised.

Writing is rough stuff. Seriously! It’s hard making up stuff. It’s emotionally draining, mentally strenuous, and sociallyWell, writing in and of itself is not very social… Except it is. No, I can’t carry on a conversation while I write–at least not in a way in which I can do both well–but there is definitely a social side to it.


I have had the privileged of being a part of two groups of writers who have blessed my work in more ways than imaginable. They are my sounding board and one of the biggest sources of encouragement I have for my work. They hold me accountable and provide the push that I need all too often.

The Inklyrks are a group I meet with on a weekly basis during the school year, and then occasionally during the summer. (And yes, that is pronounced “ink lickers.” It is a long story that I’m not really even sure I can tell accurately. It was one of those names that just sort of happened.) We’re a mix high school/college age folk that span many genres from fiction to poetry to songwriting. We focus more on encouragement and group discussion than critique.

The original Inklykrs. Keep these faces in your mind.
You’ll see them again someday as they promote bestsellers!


There was this magical moment shortly after the inception of the group when we had at last read a sample of everyone’s writing and had begun to get to know each other that we began to notice something. This group was magic. It was a wonderful balance of artists and thinkers that had a passion for the written word as well as for one another. The group dynamic was as pretty well close to perfect as one could get.

You see, it takes a village to not only raise a child, but to also write a book. I don’t know what sort of state my novel would be in if it wasn’t for the encouragement of my wonderful writing community. They have held my hand during writer’s block and a hard-drive crash. They have pished at the discouraging advice an editor had given me. They have been cheering me and my characters on from day one and I am so grateful for everyone of them.

There have been so many hours spent sitting in front of the fire, discussing literature, and the challenges of writing. We get excited about books and music and tea. We laugh more than we ought and love every minute of it. These people have become my brothers and sisters through art and each of them is irreplaceable.

In every writing endeavor, there comes a moment when you can no longer cling to your own sanity–mainly because it is no longer there. It is in that moment when you need community the most. Being part of a writer’s group gives you those people to cry out to. They can provide a second pair of eyes, a pat on the back, or maybe a good kick int he pants. As artists, we all need those people that will hold us accountable to the creative task we have been charged with. Writing especially is something we need community for. We need to know as we write in our tortured silence that there are people supporting us on the outside. Sometimes, we just need a good hug when a character dies, or we’ve bled dry on a very personal poem.

If you are just starting out in the writing game or are in it but without community, I give you one resounding piece of advice: FIND YOUR PEOPLE!!!! Attend book groups at your local library, go to a writing conference, look for already existing groups in your area (I don’t advise that for critique groups, but I’ll delve into that at a later date). Get out there and meet some writers! Once you find those people that speak your language, it is incredible the positive effect that can have on your writing. Plus, sometimes it is just fun to have a group of people to geek-out in a bookstore with you.

If you are already in a group, I’d just like to encourage you to thank them. They are your village and they love you as much as you them. They are in your corner and they’re in yours and that is a gift to be treasured.

I was richly blessed this weekend by having time to write, but also people to write with. Twenty-eight hours, seven spent in writing, four spent in bookstores, sixteen pages produced, forty-five hundred words, and countless moments spent with people who play the same note I do. That is why I am grateful for my community. Y’all know who you are and you are very near and dear to my heart!

The Inklykrs over this weekend at bookstore #3

The Words that Killed the Critic

I’ve never been one for quotes in my writing space. Many writers live and die by the mantras surrounding their workspace, but I find it distracting for the most part. Except for one.

There are no good first drafts.
 

At first read, I guess this could be considered discouraging, but I find it really freeing. It takes out all the pressure.

No book is good the first time down. I can write whatever I must just to get it down on the page. I can deal with the mess later. Spelling and grammar? What are those? Plotting? Who needs it!

Perfectionism has been something I’ve struggled with for a while. It causes the little critic in the front of my brain to tell me all sorts of nasty things as I try to do what I’m called to.

“You aren’t making this interesting.”
“Who is going to read this?”
“What makes you think you have what it takes to write a story?”
“That’s a dumb idea. Why would you write that?”
“You suck.”
“Just stop.”

It’s enough to paralyze the best writer. And I’m just an amateur here!

When the self-talk gets to be too much, I find my mantra to be so reassuring. There are no good first drafts. Why should I try to write one when it’s not possible? What is possible is just a rough draft. Heavy on the rough. The critic has nothing on that.

When I am able to be freed from my self-critic, my creativity is able to roam free and my writing reaches places I never would have had I listened to the perfectionist in my brain. My characters can be who they are and the plot flows freely.

What encourages you in your writing? What keeps the critic at bay and the creativity in open pastures? I’d love to hear!

xo,
           – Lex

Writing Samples: Chicago

I told you not to hold your breath for poetry. It’s about a month into the blog, so again, I hope you haven’t been holding your breath.
Today is actually Preppy Bohemia’s first month out there, so that’s exciting. I figured to celebrate, I should actually put some writing out there. I think it’s kind of funny that my first creative writing sample is actually a piece of poetry. In my defense, it is prose poetry. I’m really not much of a poet. Anyway, I thought I’d get away from the personal essays for a bit.

This poem was inspired my a spontaneous trip to Chicago to see a concert. It was a beautiful night filled with friends and music and chai. I was in the final stretch of my senior thesis project when one of my dearest friends threw out this concert as an option. I got out of work early and three of us ran out of Grand Rapids for a beautiful night. It was a rainy night in April and as we left the concert, the city was encased in a fog that made everything look soft and glowing. From this, I was inspired. The poem is copied below.
My first instinct is always to run. Hardness comes with age, and time, and hurt, but that was not 
why I wanted the road beneath me. Sometimes it just gets so damn difficult to think of how 
to breathe. I slam my fists down on the desk and push my chair back and look to the ceiling 
and sigh whatever words God will listen to first. I think about walking the gray sidewalks 
surrounding silver buildings like moats, watching the lake in the distance between the steel
towers. There is freedom in the skyscraper jail – the anonymous nature of the suburban serf
hiding in the wealth of State St. In a bar on the north end, the mandolin plays the song I listened 
to while avoiding life, overwhelmed by the requirements of adulthood. And wheeling down 
Lakeshore Drive, watching the field of lights, ripe for the harvest, I return weary to what I 
promised. The hardeness is gone for maybe only the three hour drive. But it was the song that 
made the stone melt and the hole grow through its cracks. The water that fell on us as we ran 
from the concert to the car helped the seed to grow and settle and root me to what I swore.

Trust, Truth, and T-Straps

I have a shoe problem. I love them. Heels, wedges, flats, docksiders, flip-flops, I love them all. I cannot go out of the house unless I have the exact right shoes for what I am wearing. I deliver 200lbs of paper in heels, I trapes through ice in silk flats. Heck, I’ve had to jump into a three-foot snow bank in a pair of suede pumps because I could not outrun a snowplow! (It’s a long story that was emotionally scaring… It may show up as a vignette…) If I have too much of anything other than books, it’s shoes. There is just something about that new pair. They make me feel new as well.  A new outfit or fresh pair of shoes makes me feel lovely in a way nothing else can. Admit it: Doesn’t it feel fantastic when you feel good about what you’re wearing and everyone you see is complimenting you? They know you look good, you know you look good, everybody’s happy.


We all have a deep-rooted lie that we believe. It sits in the gut of our soul longing to be proven false, but in this broken world, the lie seems to always prevail. The lie I believe is that I am not lovely. The complete opposite in fact. If I can boil it down to one word, I believe I am repulsive

Because I believe this about myself, I feel if anyone truly gets to know me, they will be horrified and leave. I think I am unworthy of relationship. I believe no one will ever find me beautiful. So I must do something so no one will find out I am broken, ashamed, and ugly. We try to cover up our lies in a lot of ways. One way I try is through clothing.

If I have on the right outfit, if I am on top of the latest trends, if I am unique and stylish, no one will notice I am ugly. I can cover up what I feel is a lack of physical beauty with clothing. If I can’t be beautiful, at least I can be stylish. In this way, clothing becomes my coping mechanism. If I feel ugly, bloated, or unfeminine, I can go to a store and buy something that does make me feel lovely, willowy, and sophisticated. I believe that somehow, someway, if I have the right outfit, I will magically have a date to wear it to. If I figure out how to wear my hair with that new dress, I will meet prince charming and dance the night away. I feel in my core that if I look the right way, everything I have longed for will come my way and all of my fears will be no more.

And I am ashamed that I do this. Because the fact of the matter is how I look – how I was made is not in my realm of power. No one can find out the “truth” about me, so I have to have control in order to maintain the facade I’ve created. Clothes I can control. Everything else, I can’t.

I am not in control of the fact that I am not in a relationship right now. I am not in control of what job I will have in the next year, or where I’ll live in the next two. I cannot control where my friends move to or my ability to travel to see them. I cannot control who I am, where I have been placed, or what I have been called to.

I can trust. That is what I am in control of in the here-and-now. That is my only responsibility. I am capable of nothing else if I cannot trust.

When I am able to trust in the Lord, everything seems to make sense. It has order, though I am not controlling the show. I am at peace because I am resting in truth. I do not need that new pair of heels because I am being truly fulfilled. He is able to reveal who I really am to him and what that means in the call to serve others. Finding lie-cover-up in clothing serves me and only for a short amount of time. By trusting in Christ, I am able to be who I am made to be. Breath-taking, peaceful, and compassionate. I am able to be the vessel he needs to love others well, not the drain sucking down whatever love and affirmation she can get.

Being clothed in trust is what will truly makes a girl lovely, right shoes or not. and still, it is the accessory I always seem to leave the house without. It is a daily struggle to surrender my lie to the Lord and let him drape his truth over me. To know that my longings are supposed to drive me back to him and teach me to trust in his wonderful plan.

I guess this is my attempt at giving up. I cannot make myself believe I am lovely. Control is not something I was ever supposed to have. I have to put my trust in that which is bigger than I. Only God can find the perfect truth to fill the hole made by my lie. It is only then that I can be filled with the truth that I am desired, loved, and beautiful.

xo,
          -Lex

Who’s Planning This Thing?

This May I finished my last full semester of college. I still have one class left and I won’t walk until May of 2014 (long story) but for the most part, life as I have known it is done.
And this is scary to me. I no longer have the pattern of summer, school, break, school, summer. I just have… life…

And frankly, there isn’t really a plan. This is frightening because I am a planner. I keep endless lists, schedule my life from here to eternity, and always have a vague idea of how things should probably go. but not anymore. Right now, I know what is going on up to December. That is approximately six months of knowing what’s up. Then… I don’t know.
And that freaks the crap out of me.

In my mind as a kid, I always figured there was going to be college and then some time and then marriage. I never really wondered what was going to happened in that “some time” phase. It was just supposed to be this magical period of traveling and “finding myself.” Now, there is this big blank void that stretches from now until the end of the world. (Frankly, marriage is a vague dotted line at this point.)

There are so many options, dreams, and possibilities, it just seems so overwhelming. I need a job, I want to travel, I want to invest myself more at my church and my community. I want to stay in my comfort zone, yet grow as a person. Those things don’t happen simultaneously. 
In this stage of life, it seems so easy to be displaced. I’m an adult, but I’m clueless. I have a degree, but no experience. I have dreams, but I have no way to get there, monetarily or otherwise. This is the age of “getting there” mixed with “not yet.” 

It is in this period of tension that God is found. He has a plan, though I have no clue what it is. I have to trust in that plan. It’s probably one of the hardest things I’ve had to do. But in my limited experience, whatever He’s got up his sleeves is better than anything I’ve thought up. I can dream up all the plans I want. It is not until I’ve committed them to God that anything seems to work out.

So this is post-college. I sit here in my grubby running shorts, trying to write, never knowing if anyone will read my fiction, dreaming of the day I can actually be a “grown-up.”

A beautiful prayer from Thomas Merton’s book Thoughts in Solitude has brought me great comfort in these last couple of months:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end. Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think I am following your will does no mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you. And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doin. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore I will trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

This has been my prayer for a while now. God is good. God is God. He’s in charge right now, so I guess it’s about time I buckle in and prepare for the ride.
Here’s to the journey!

xo,
         -Lex

DON’T SCALD THE TEA BAGS!!!: A Green Tea Manifesto

Alright, I’m about to go a little hipster all over here, so sit down kiddos! You’ve probably never heard of this before, and I hate labels, but here goes:
I am a tea snob.
Tea is an art form, I tell you! I love beautiful tea pots and large tea cups. I love different types of sugar and know exactly how to sweeten the tea to perfection. I don’t like milk in my tea, but if I’m serving others, there must be a lovely creamer at the table. And then there is the tea itself.
My favorite is Nambarrie. It’s a Kenyan black tea sold in Northern Ireland and it is splendid. Herbals are great, especially at night when winding down. Green tea is also a favorite. I love the light citrus undertones. If I’m ever going to get pretentious about anything, it is going to be my tea.
Personally, I am partial to loose leaf, but bagged tea isn’t all bad. Green tea especially is one I don’t mind compromising on. Most coffee shops have higher quality tea bags. (JP’s Coffee and Espresso Bar of Holland, MI sets the bar a little higher. Order their tea and you’re gettin’ loose! They are one of the few coffee shops I know who will give you loose-leaf tea to go. And they make a great cup o’ green!)
Starbuck’s is a point of contention for me. I prefer to champion local shops. The atmosphere is generally more unique and cozy, and the drinks are often better. The other reason I can’t stand Starbucks: they cannot – for the life of them – make a decent cup of green tea. Now to all the Starbuck’s barista’s out there, I apologize if you know how to make green tea correctly. I know I am generalizing. It’s tricky to get it right only because no one really advertises how, especially the tea companies themselves. I started drinking green tea when I first began high school and could not figure out why some cups were bitter and others were fine, even though the tea bags came from the same box. It’s an easy mistake to correct.
Here’s the biz on how to make your green tea correctly.
Green tea leaves are more delicate than black. As such, brewing green tea with boiling water will scald the tea leaves. This makes the tea taste bitter or vegetable-y. It’s not pleasant. By brewing the leaves with water of a decent temperature, you can avoid this problem. If you’re boiling the water yourself, you will want to take the pot off the heat just as the tiny bubbles begin to form at the bottom. Don’t let it get to a rolling boil! I am very high maintenance. Most of the time now, when at a coffee shop, I just request that the tea bag be left out so I can put it in at my own discretion.
Again, what can I say, I’m a tea snob. This is my small plea to the world asking that we all go green and respect the leaves! Let the water cool first and you will have the best cup of green tea available.
*pushing hipster glasses up the bridge of my nose* Sorry for the lack of irony there. I’m just trying not to be mainstream. I am now going to go sort my drawer of mustache assecories and coordinate my Toms with my recent Urban Outfiters thrift store purchase.

xo,

          –Lex

   

That Awkward Moment When Faithful Sounds Like Failure…

God does not want you to be successful — he wants you to be faithful.

I heard a speaker say this a few weeks ago and the thought made me stop in my tracks. How contrary is this message to everything else we hear from the world?
At this point in my life, I feel anything but successful. I almost have a degree. I work at the same entry-level job I’ve had for the last three years. I have no concrete plans outside of the fact that I will probably eat dinner at home tonight. I share a mini-van with my mom. I live with my parents in my childhood bedroom. As I sit here, looking at my teddy bear and baby blanket sitting on the bed, I can’t exactly say I’m living the dream.
What do I think success looks like for someone in my stage of life? An apartment, perhaps. Not in my parent’s basement. A car might be nice. A job. One that pays for the above. One I enjoy and have the potential to advance. The teddy bear might still be sitting on the bed…
Today, we measure success in any way we can. As soon as I post something on Facebook, I find myself refreshing the page to see how many likes it has received, as if this measures what sort of friend I am or how funny I can be. We compare schedules to see who is the busiest, therefore the most wanted and important. We buy certain brands, wear certain styles, do our hair certain ways because how we present our appearance will exude the message that we are put together and up on everything in the world of style. All this for the sake of feeling more experienced or more connected. All for the sake of—even in the smallest sense—feeling successful.
Well I’m throwing in the towel on this one, folks:
I am not successful. I’ve got nothing. I try and try and still come up unsatisfied, unfulfilled, and exhausted. Ultimately, I feel as if I have failed.
Ultimately because I have.
And not because I don’t have 700 likes on my status, or I have nowhere to go on a Thursday night, or because my hair only does one of two things: frizz or flop.
Thing is, my calling is not to be successful. It is not to post the most witty comments on the human condition at all times. It is not to fill every blasted second with people and places and commitments. It is not to look my best at every second. I cannot do any of these things.
What I can do is be faithful.
I have been given a portion in this stage of life. The fact that I have the job I do, the home I do, and lack the things I do is not without a reason. I have been placed in this stage of life for a reason. I am in a place where so much is unknown and I feel so aimless at points that I just want to scream. From where I am sitting in life, I don’t see any change coming and that is extremely discouraging. It feels like failure.
Faithfulness sometimes looks like failure. Faithfulness is not usually flashy or glamorous. Faithfulness does not look like a twenty-one year old rookie author on the New York Times Bestseller List. Faithfulness is quiet. It is patient. It looks like praying when the day gets long or monotonous or stressful. It looks like investing hours to master a craft or gaining experience. It looks like taking the time to get to know the people around you rather for dreaming of those who may be around the corner. It looks like giving up an evening to invest in students in the youth group or people in need. It looks like trusting in something bigger than yourself. Most of the time, it does not look like success.
And yet, it is what we are called to. God has called me to be a writer. If I am to trust him with not only that calling, but also my life, I have to trust his plan. I am not going to be a published author right out the gate. In fact, ‘published author’ may never be part of my title. All I have right now is ‘writer’ and if that’s what I am called to be, then I must put in the time and effort to become the best I can.
It is the same with my relationship with God. I cannot expect faithfulness to be an easy calling. I have to put in the time, as with any friendship. A relationship does not deepen because I met someone once. It grows as time is spent and intimacy is built. Trust does not develop without time, attention, love, and patience. The same with God. As I spend time in his word and in prayer, the deeper understanding I am given of his love, his will, and his glory. As that time is spent, I learn to trust little by little. And I fail at this daily, but that is alright. That is part of learning to be faithful. No one said anything worth doing would be easy.
My success in the eyes of my maker does not lie in likes, or busy-ness, or my hair—amen. I am not striving to one day be told “Well done good and successful servant.” Those words ring empty. I want to live a life that is fulfilling and pleasing to him. And that requires faithfulness. In that, He is well pleased.
xo,
                  –Lex 

B-T-Dubs, I Write…

I have mentioned I’m a writer. I actually started this blog not to be just a place to rate books or rant about life after college, but also as a way to keep myself writing.

Deadlines are a must for me… kind of. I should say, rather, that consistency is a must. I cannot tell myself, “You must have your novel completed by Christmas… or else!” It won’t get done. I can tell myself to have a chapter written a week and I’ll have much better results. So what about those times when I don’t have a chapter to write? What if I don’t feel like approaching my fiction on a given day? Now that I am out of college, I have found I will not have to write as many short essays or to think further about what I’ve been reading. So how on earth am I supposed to keep myself writing?

Answer: blog!

By giving myself parameters of two blog posts a week (one if things are crazy or ideas are slow) I am giving myself the perfect way to keep up with my short fiction and creative non-fiction in the midst of writing my novel.

So what do I write? Growing up, I loved fairy tales and re-tellings. This is reflected in my current work as I approach a loose Robin Hood adaptation set on the high seas. Fantasy is interesting to me, but not something I enjoy writing. I find myself gravitating more towards paranormal fiction where only one thing is out of the ordinary or amiss, rather than an entirely different world that I now have to know everything about. I greatly respect those who can manage that. I am just not clever enough. I also believe you can’t go wrong with realistic fiction. I am prone to write romantic comedies, as much as I dread to admit that…

Writing and reading go hand-in-hand. I cannot tell you how many writing conferences I have been to where this has not been the resounding piece of advice given to new writers. I am just on the beginning of my writing journey and I can tell you these wise words have made all the difference in the world! What I read informs and inspires me in a way no other medium can. Finding a wonderful new author is like meeting a new mentor. Some of the writers I find most inspiring are Jane Austen, Gail Carson Levine, Daniel Nayeri, and Sophie Kinsella. It’s a random mix, I know, but the more I read, the more I find to read! Genres I once despised are becoming more appealing to me. (More on that later.)

One thing I have come to appreciate as I plunge deeper into the writing world is meeting other writers. There is something magical about people who love words. We love to talk about what we’re writing and what we love to read. I can talk shop for hours. If you ever want to discuss craft, books, or anything remotely literary, please shoot me an email!

I guess I just wanted to throw all of this out there as a chance to define this blog a little further. Yes, this is a blog about life outside of college, but it is also about the life of a writer outside of college. Writing is a team sport and I am excited to encourage and be encouraged by all of you as we embark on this journey as readers and writers together.

So who are my writers out there? What do you like to write? Who do you find inspiring to your writing?

Book Review: Flame of Resistance

I’ll admit it with pride: I don’t like Christian Fiction.

I’m a Christian who writes, but I don’t feel called to write fiction that is Christian and there are very few pieces in the genre I can stand to read. But, on occasion, there is a gem of a book that I cannot put down. 

One author in the Christian Fiction genre I have really come to respect is Tracy Groot. She has written My Brother’s Keeper, Stones of My Accusers, and the 2007 Christy Award Winner in the historical fiction category, Madman. Well, now she’s done it again with her historical fiction novel, Flame of Resistance and is nominated once more for the Christy Award.

The Christy Award is given to Christian Fiction writers who have written outstanding work in their genre. It is given every year in seven categories ranging from contemporary romance to young adult. It’s kind of a big deal. This evening, the 2013 awards will be presented and Flame of Resistance is a worthy contender.

Flame of Resistance is set in German-occupied Normandy on the brink of D-day in 1944. The story centers around three characters –  Tom, Brigitte, and Michel. Tom is a downed US fighter pilot who looks like the quintessential German soldier. Michel, the leader of a French resistance cell, can’t help but recruit Tom for his plan. Brigitte is a prostitute who wants to do whatever it takes to shed her reputation and become a hero for her country.

Tom embarks on his undercover mission with Brigitte as his contact and their relationship and what they discover will change the trajectory of the war. This unconventional retelling of Rahab is a beautifully written and exciting piece of historical fiction. 

Groot writes a wonderful, character-driven piece through a thorough and intriguing setting. Though the pacing starts out slowly in the first hundred pages, she gives a big pay off in both high tension and action. You’ll recognize the tipping point when you get there and won’t regret the wait.

Flame has one of the most satisfying endings I’ve read in a long time. I promise I won’t put down any spoilers, but as I was reaching the end, I felt as if I was tearing through pages. Some moments in shock, others in sadness, but most in awe. It takes a lot for me to become emotionally invested in a book. My roommates can testify, I was almost too emotionally involved in this one. I would wander about our room, book in hand, mumbling forlornly: “Nazi’s are mean!” But seriously, she understands how to make a narrative work on multiple levels, understanding what the reader wants, when to give it and when to withhold. The way Groot ties up her loose ends and interweaving plot lines left me thinking over it for weeks following. Some of the character’s fates were not necessarily what I wanted, but as I thought over what was written, it was what was needed. Beautiful piece of fiction that I would recommend to anyone.

If you’re looking for something to read this summer, you need to run out and grab Flame of Resistance. Local Grand Rapids bookstore, Baker Book House has it for $5. If even that is not incentive enough, I’ll give you two words: camembert scene. After you’ve read that, you will thank me, I promise.

Best of luck to Tracy tonight. I’m rooting for Flame and after you read it, I know you will be as well!

xo,
             – Lex


Building the Summer Book Pile

I start out each summer feeling very ambitious. I have a mental list of everything I want to accomplish during the summer and somehow magically none of the things on that list get done.

Well this year, that will not be the case!… perhaps.

I know I want to finish Part I of my novel. I’m about ten chapters out from this, so I’m thinking a chapter a week… we’ll see if my characters are feeling the same pace.

I also want to redecorate my bedroom and go through all of my boxes in the storage area in my parents basement. I think it’s odd that I haven’t lived at my parents for three years, and yet I have seemed to accumulate a lot of crap in that window of time. Consolidation must happen or I will end up on hoarders. 

As I thought over this summer, I began to think less and less of these things I wanted to accomplish and more and more about what I wanted to read.

So I thought I’d clue you in to my reading list for the summer. I’m pretty excited about it!

  • The Daylight War – Peter V. Brett
  • Byzantium – Stephen R. Lawhead
  • Green Economy – Bill McKibben
  • I’ve Got Your Number – Sophie Kinsella
  • The Fault in Our Stars – John Green
  • The Equation – Oliver Learnt 

This is my list so far, but it will continue to grow in the next couple days. Feel free to comment with what you are planning to read over the summer as well as recommendations! I love to hear about a new book every now and again… or all the time!

xo,
          – Lex