Jennifer Strube

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Life gives you stories. It hands you prayers. It disappoints and dazzles better than any other distraction.

 

My passion for writing began as a child. Like many kids, I had a diary filled with very deep nine-year old musings.  "I want to publish this one day," I told my mom.

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My mother, a more realistic dreamer, replied back, “Writers write stories, Jennifer. Fiction stories.”

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So I spent the next 25 years procrastinating, trying to find fiction. I waited tables at Thai restaurants, photojournaled my way through barbed-wired (former) Eastern Bloc borders, and worked as a music teacher in China, teaching Irish gigs to Korean children. Life got in the way, as life does, providing the best stories of all. I then spent a decade teaching inner-city kids how to write, all so I didn’t have to do the hard work of doing it myself. 

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Finally, I turned 30, and I could procrastinate no more. No longer could I hide behind my travels, my teaching, my crinkly grad degrees. Nor could I feign authorship because I had written for snoozy conferences, socially-minded churches, and the good old NYC Board of Education. Nope. Somewhere along the way, I also grew a nagging in my chest that said (in a thick Long Island accent), “Honey child, get off yo’ behind. Get to it.”

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And (more importantly) somewhere along the way, I met you. 

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It is so nice to meet you. I hope we can become great friends.

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I write to stay awake. Hopefully, we can stay awake together in this life, as that's all we get. Let's open our eyes together and jump into this messy, mundane, miracle of the daily grind. Let’s travel close. Travel safe. And travel lightly. Together.