J. C. Reese

I love my desk. It's heavy, old, and made of solid wood. ADHD keeps it from being all neat and organized, but I make an effort. My kids have spent hours here, playing games and doing homework assignments. They're not supposed to eat or drink while at my desk, but I have learned to choose my battles. Every nick, scratch, stain and scuff makes my desk my own. Nothing short of a fire could make me replace it. This is where I write.

Growing up in New England gave me an appreciation for the history of the area, especially the blend of cultures, the gorgeous changes of season, and my first love - the beach. I was fortunate to attend good schools, as well. My move to the South introduced me to a different, slower paced way of life. I have endured years of being labeled a "damn Yankee," being asked to speak s-l-o-w-l-y, and adapting to eating anything from a deep fryer. These and many more differences inspired me to write about being a transplant in the South. The material here is limitless. I do have to keep a low profile, in case the locals catch wind of my work, but I can outrun the best of them. Worst case scenario, I redirect their attention to something that is fighting for life beneath a puddle of gravy.