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I Will Chalk Clouds Upon Your Sidewalk

Loreen Says...

15 August 1977
I begain in the forest outside of Coos Bay oregon. We did live in a house, but it hardly counted. It had no electricity, hot water, or room. When I was born It didn't even have walls, but the summer was warm and my father finished building before winter.

The forest was the important part for my little girl self. My toys were ferny hillsides and moss fured oaks. The tiny house was just a place I came back too when I was tired of the rain.

Growing up my family lived in unstable feast and famin times. Sometimes we had money and we lived in large houses. Sometimes in Illegal sheds. With my brother, my sister and I on matresses lined up under the eaves.
The Good times and bad times had little to do with money or space.

I've lived most of my life in Eugene. I was quiet and odd. I had few friends at school, where I found the students crule and incompehensible and the teachers helpless. I quit before highschool and homeschooled myself in everything except math. Instead I exchanged yardwork for tutoring with a university accouting prophesor.

In 1992 I was invited to a halloween party thrown by the profesors daughter. The only girl I knew who was also fifteen.

I sewed myself a slightly slinky costume and a black mask. Nerviously, I hoped for the opportunity to kiss a boy.

I kissed Damon, the next morrning I aggreed to date him. In 1995 we were both attending a local collage and still dating. He was studying theater tech. I was studdying nothing in particular. I asummed I would have to support him and glumbly considered becoming an accountant. I wanted to be a fiction writer. I even sent a couple stories to magazines. None of them were published.

In 1999 Damon and I married. He had found a job as a computer technicion. He was supporting me. We never bough a car, the expens seemed unreasonable. Insted we saved up for a house of our own. We bicicled. In the evenings, we took Kung fu classes.
I've spent the last few years building my conections in the local arts comunity. I make masks out of cloth and wires and beads, I paint, I etch glass jewlery. I made myself a little money and a very good reputation.

I whole time I was trying to be an artist or artisan. I kept thinking, "What I realy am is a writer." And I was writing daily. Attempting to teach myself alone the way I'd taught myself in highschool.

I filled journals. The journals filled up a bookshelf. I even copied a shortstory in longhand, like a midevel scribe, because I wanted to explore it's intricacies word for word. I didn't finish any stories for four years.


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