By Patrick Linehan |

Stories have long been the way I process the world. When I first learned to write, I would staple together pieces of computer paper to form handwritten ‘novels.’ I later graduated to Microsoft Word, where my adolescent self would pen ill-conceived characters based on a suburban understanding of the world and whatever novel I had read most recently. When I made it to high school, I suppressed this love of storytelling, opting instead to participate in activities that, in my mind, would result in an acceptance letter from the country’s best colleges. Though I was constantly busy running from a club to work to school to volunteering, I didn’t like myself very much. Continue Reading