For a minute or so, Times Square sounds like a horror movie or an amusement park. Then a million people–who have settled into the pavement and lived in Times Square for more than twelve hours–simultaneously feel their feet aching and the cold on their backs and in their shoes, and turn back for home.
For my mom and I, Grand Central Station looms ahead–a beacon. It is 12:30am. We have survived fourteen hours in New York City, explored a narrow strip of Manhattan. Our eyes have roved from Battery Park to Times Square, seen statues and skyscrapers, subways and rats. But it’s the people who really make New York what we know it to be. And 1 million of them–tourists and New Yorkers alike–decided to scream in Times Square with us tonight.
I've been writing stories since I was 5. My first book was "Turtle Salad"--I wrote and illustrated it. I was horrified because Sally the Turtle ate a fish.
When I was 8, I wrote to JK Rowling to offer some ideas for the Harry Potter series. Her assistant wrote me back, saying that Rowling only hopes to inspire young readers, not to take their ideas. While I totally understand now, I was pissed then. I vowed to become a better writer than JK Rowling. I've been working toward it ever since.
Now, I'm a 21-year-old sometimes-poet studying writing and French at the University of Mount Union. My work has appeared in the University of Mount Union's Agora and Calliope, Hiram College's Echo, the University of Miami's Mangrove, the Lala, Popular Culture Studies Journal, and the Cleveland Magazine.