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Hi. Hey. Hello. Yo. Hola.
I’m Kiera.
In my new book, “I Don’t Want You to Read This,” I struggled to introduce myself. Here is no different.
But really, I want a home and an adventure, a life of simplicity, memories over things, a million more firsts, sunny days in the mountains, and mandatory sleep-in Sundays.
You see, I live in the margins. I’m a million words scattered across journal pages and post-it notes. The script I’ve written for my future is scrawled and annotated by a Ticonderoga no.2 and rubbed raw with eraser shavings. I am not weighed down by the permanence of a Sharpie dictating whom I’m meant to be. I’m constantly (and I do mean constantly) rewriting the end of my story.
Thank you for stopping by – and I’d love to know – What’s your story?
you to read it.
I am a writer.
The one without any advice.
I write to remember. I write to remember to share what I’ve learned. About the messes and mess-ups. The breaks and the stains and the deep-seated bruises
and about all the times when I’ve said the wrong things and done the wrong things
and been the wrong thing.
I write about the times I’ve been broken, the times when I’ve healed,
and the times when I’ve stayed broken.
I am a writer.
The kind of writer who is afraid. Always, always afraid that her words will burn you
or even worse afraid that her words may never burn.
I am a writer
and I don’t want you to read this.