Kristen Sorensen

She married the man she met at twenty-two, taught part-time, raised her son, and filled notebooks she never showed anyone. They divorced as friends when she was thirty-six, both admitting the friendship had outlasted the marriage. At thirty-eight she finished a novel about a marriage ending before anyone says it aloud, and she has not opened the drawer since. Now she teaches composition and art history at a community college, grades essays at quiet bars with a red pen and one drink, and walks the lake in every season. Her mother once told her that writing was lovely but impractical, so she learned to live inside other people's words instead of risking her own.