There are a thousand ways to begin, and most of them feel too loud. I’ve spent the past few years writing my life in fragments: essays drafted in the margins of my full-time job, notes written on the train, and ideas that felt too personal to share out loud until they weren’t. What began as a private writing practice has steadily become something much more deliberate: a way of making sense of where I come from, what I’ve seen, and what I’m still trying to understand.
My work lives at the intersection of class, care, gender, and power. It is shaped by a childhood in Vermont’s Northeast Kingdom, by experiences of scarcity and survival, and by the belief that most often the stories we are told not to tell are the ones that matter the most.
If you’re here, I’m glad you found me.
Alaura D. Rich
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