There are some things you just can’t shake: boxers over briefs, an innate love of liverwurst, Truman’s hat size (7-3/8), and the pernicious desire to write. So that’s what I do, and it’s a good thing, because (based on my resume) I seem egregiously unsuited to do much else.
It took the reality of old age bearing down to seriously push me into my heart’s work, but once I decided, things got sort of interesting. When I was 50 years old, I decided it was time to finish my undergraduate degree. I did a completely impulsive thing: I applied to Stanford.
Then Stanford did this weird thing and admitted me. If you knew how low my SAT math scores were, you’d be laughing right now. I’m still laughing (and the people at the café table near me are giving me strange sidelong glances).
So that happened. I got my BA in English/creative writing when I was 52*, then I went on to get an MFA in fiction from the Program for Writers at Warren Wilson College. And here I am, writing stories for you.
I live with my husband in my hometown, in the small house where my grandparents and great-grandmother lived when I was growing up. This is where I spend my time making up stories. When the light shines in just so, I’m five years old again, with the voices of my family all around me and the smell of my grandfather’s cigar tickling my memory.
Thank you for visiting my website, and thank you for reading...from the bottom of my heart.
*For a far more inspiring example of a Stanford late bloomer, read here.
We all have a dark side that whispers secret stories. Don't we? Carla may love the quirky families of Anne Tyler and the ethereal prose of Marilynne Robinson, but August wants lots of Anne Rice and Cormac McCarthy. Carla loves Cold Mountain; August loves binge re-runs of The Walking Dead.
The world has its glories and people their beauties. But every silver lining has a dark cloud (isn't that how it goes?) and August finds exploring the dark side to be an endless fascination and psychic catharsis.
Working from a tiny garret overlooking the lovely Myrtle Grove Cemetery, August prefers to write novels longhand while sipping bitterly strong tea and wearing an atrocious pair of bedroom slippers.
Apparently, she also finds it preferable to refer to herself in the third person.
Have you danced today?