David Litwack
The urge to write first struck me when working on a newsletter at a youth encampment in the woods of northern Maine. It may have been the night when lightning flashed at sunset followed by northern lights rippling after dark. Or maybe it was the newsletter’s editor, a girl with eyes the color of the ocean. But I was inspired to write about the blurry line between reality and the fantastic.Using two fingers and lots of white-out, I religiously typed five pages a day throughout college and well...
