Chloe Caldwell Essay

Chloe Caldwell Essay-56
Divorced people had been through an emotional ordeal, giving them a depth I found attractive.And if they had kids, even better, as I’ve always enjoyed the challenge of bonding with children who aren’t blood-related to me, and I love the perspective kids bring to the world.

Divorced people had been through an emotional ordeal, giving them a depth I found attractive.And if they had kids, even better, as I’ve always enjoyed the challenge of bonding with children who aren’t blood-related to me, and I love the perspective kids bring to the world.” When Cheryl and her family returned from New York, I had one day left in Portland before I flew back to New York.

“I’m dying to lounge around and just talk someday, dear one,” she recently said in an email, bringing tears to my eyes.

I think of her as the author of Chloe Caldwell is the author of Legs Get Led Astray (Future Tense Books, April, 2012), which Cheryl Strayed called “a scorching hot glitter box of youthful despair and dark delight.

It’s all YOU, babe.” I met Cheryl Strayed for the first time last September, on her birthday. By this time, a friend told me that Cheryl was Sugar, and Cheryl too had asked me if I knew who her secret identity.

I was ecstatic and nervous and overjoyed to be in her presence.

I think I may have emailed her after I read her essay.” This habit of emailing authors when they make you feel something is one of the best traits my mother has passed down to me. I was sixteen then, and here I was eleven years later, unknowingly emailing the same author about the same essay that my mother had.

So while emailing with Cheryl about her essay, I told her that my mom thought that perhaps she, too, had written to Cheryl about “The Love of My Life.” No more than five minutes passed by before Cheryl responded: “Is your mother’s name Michele? We had an exchange about how much we both loved Lucinda Williams. About a week after this, Kevin Sampsell (publisher of Future Tense Books in Portland, Oregon), solicited me for my manuscript.I think of Cheryl now as the woman who wrote an essay for that my mother and I loved.I think of her as someone who gave me a roof over my head in Portland and a woman who tries to meet me for chocolate cream pie when she damn well knows she can’t meet me for pie.She looked at the screen and told me she’d read it.I said, “No, mom you couldn’t have.” She simply couldn’t have been cool enough to have read that essay before me. Cheryl wrote back to me on Twitter saying thank you, and that she’d also enjoyed an essay of mine on popular advice columnist.) A week previous Sugar had commented on, linked to, and tweeted about my Rumpus essay.It was so coincidental that I was sure Cheryl had something to do with it, since she was also a Portland author. ” my mother said, half-joking, when I explained the situation to her.I worked up the nerve and asked Cheryl if she’d hooked me up with Kevin and she said, “I didn’t say anything to him.It laid around our house, dog-eared and coffee stained.It’s quite possible it was a touch too adult for me to be reading when I was seventeen, but I relished reading it—had read nothing like it before—and I believe now that created my interest in, and schooled me in, non-fiction.When I stayed home sick from school, I would lounge in my mom’s bed and read the work of writers whose names didn’t totally stick to me at the time.Poe Ballantine, Sparrow, and, of course, Cheryl Strayed.

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