Informational Interview 1/3: Kitty Burroughs

by Kitty Burroughs, aka quipquipquip
Kitty’s Website
Kitty’s Patreon
TPC on Gumroad
TPC on Storenvy

The Posterchildren: Origins, or TPC for short, is one of my personal favorites in my bookshelf collection. Written by Kitty Burroughs, the series features super-powered teens working their way through public hero boarding school. It’s available on Storenvy, Smashwords, and Gumroad for e-book purchase. Storenvy also has merch and hard copy books.

Kitty also releases Timely Tales, monthly short stories that delve further into the universe, including character history and minor chracters. These are available in e-book form, but we be collected into series of 6 in hard-copy form soon.

There is also a much anticipated sequel: Retcons.

Kitty works very hard to make sure minorities are included, featured, and natural in The Posterchildren. Our world is heavily sprinkled with variety, but media often struggles to represent that properly, if at all. Kitty is very humble and makes no assumption of authority, but she cares about demographics that are rarely included in literature and aims to give them a voice. From a personal bias, I think she is very successful, as Kitty’s work includes some of the best character development and world-building I have ever read. I follow her work regularly, getting the monthly updates straight to my email and helping sponsor her Patreon for the reasons above. Needless to say, I’m a fan.

Two weeks ago, my friend, Cassidy aka ambientmagic, and I had the thrilling opportunity to interview Kitty about her writing and her process. Thrilling. To the point where I may have squealed, danced, and screamed afterward. Since the transcript of this interview is very lengthy, I only included the answers to the questions I specifically asked Kitty, which were more from a creative writer standpoint. However, Cassidy posted the complete transcript on her media representation blog, Representation Matters. If any of her questions interest you, hop on over to her blog to read them. Or hop on over to her blog anyway to read more about the importance of representation in modern media.

The interview (or as I call it, “Best School Project Ever”) follows.

Okay, first question. What drove you to become a writer?
Writing, just in general, or as a vocation? (Both.) I started writing when I was in fourth grade, and I didn’t really see it as a serious thing, because this was before fanfiction had really evolved on the internet, and really before we had internet in our home. I was sixteen or seventeen before we had internet in our home, so I had no connection to fandom at that time, but I was still writing fanfiction for myself. In the fourth grade, Sailor Moon was my first fanfiction. I was just writing for myself, because I had these stories that would entertain me, and I have terrible short term memory, so it was a way of preserving the stories for me to go over later on. I started sharing my fanfiction when I got into my Harry Potter phase in sixth or seventh grade. That’s when I started reading fanfiction online and participating in fandom in that way. I got to the point where I never saw myself as doing anything but writing. I kept doing it, it made me happy, I get weird and irritable when I don’t write (laugh), so it was one of those things I always knew.
I didn’t see it as something I could make a career out of until I was sixteen and one of my short stories won an award for promising young writers. I got a small scholarship for it, and I got to attend a four-day writing conference for professional authors in Portland. That was the moment when I realized this was a serious thing that I could probably do for a career. If I could get into this business, it could possibly, maybe support me. That conference was definitely an opportunity. I got to talk with both editors and agents, I got to practice my pitch, and really see what that part of the industry looked like. My family wasn’t supportive, because it is so difficult to get into the industry, and how much luck and opportunity is involved. It wasn’t until a couple years ago that I was like, okay. Maybe I can do this.

What inspired you to write The Posterchildren, specifically? (See Representation Matters blog.)

When you wrote TPC, did you consider going through a publisher, and what made you decide to self-publish? (See Representation Matters blog.)

Which is easier to publish, print or digital books? (See Representation Matters blog.)

You release new material regularly. How difficult is it to write to that deadline? And how do you hold yourself to that deadline?
It’s cute that you think I do. (laugh) I really try to keep things on a regular schedule, because if you don’t keep to some kind of deadline, you don’t do anything. You’ll keep pushing it further and further out, even if you’re not a procrastinator. It’s difficult for me to write to a deadline currently, because I just got a new job that takes up much more of my time than I expected. Since that has taken the reins, it’s not always easy to release content on schedule. The nice thing about TPC being a fairly small project is most readers realize that I am human, and it’s a one-person show here. I try to hold myself to it, but I also try not to beat myself up if bad things happen.

On that note, how do you balance writing with “the real world”? (See Representation Matters blog.)

Is there anything you would have done differently with your first book, Origins, that you can apply to the sequel, Retcons? (See Representation Matters blog.)

How do you research the religions, cultures, and sexualities that you put in your novels?
Well, I am white and a part of that majority, so I do my best to do as much research as possible. Most of my characters have had a very different background than mine, so their experiences are very different from mine. I try to read a lot of first person accounts, and search out voices from that minority, because it’s them I’m representing, and it’s their voice I want to prioritize. I talk to as many people as I can, and read as much material as possible.

Tell us why representation in your work is so important to you. (See Representation Matters blog.)

To switch topics, how did indiegogo and social media help you get your book out to the public?(See Representation Matters blog.)

What is your writing process like? Do you write chronologically, scene-by-scene…?
Well, I have ADD, and my writing process definitely reflects that. I have what I call my “slush pile” document, so whenever I think of something, I immediately write it down and dump it into that document. So everything, everything is in that document. When I want to find something in there, I Ctrl+F and hope I can remember some of the words I used that day. So my organization and writing process is just–a mess. (laugh) But it’s a semi-organized chaos that seems to work for me. I don’t write chronologically, but I do have bullet points and block out everything before I go into a story so I have an idea of the direction I’m headed and then let my ADD go in every direction, then piece it together at the end.

How many other people edit your works before they’re published? And how secretive are you about your plots before they’re released?
I only have one dedicated editor, who is my girlfriend, Arden, tumblr user mindgoggling who is awesome and has been with me on TPC from the beginning. She’s my sounding board, my editor, and also a resource because she’s Muslim, so that’s where I get a lot of details for Mal and his family. As far as secretiveness goes, I’m terrible. (laugh) It still hasn’t clicked for me that people want to hear about my original characters! I’m still a fanfiction writer at heart and I’m afraid I’m bothering people. I have a bad problem of telling people spoilers when I know they’re not going to tell the internet at large. There are some people I’ve spoiled by accident because I thought I’d already told them something. I use those people as a sound board to ask, does this sound dumb? Is it a good idea? Am I going too far over the line? Oops, I almost told a joke that was nothing but spoilers… Since this is my first interview, if you want to hear things, I’ll give you three free spoilers.
Oh my God.
Oh my God.

Okay. One thing I struggle with is placing clues at the right point. How do you decide when to release bits of secrets?
It’s funny because there’s so many hints you’ll see now that you know REDACTED, because to me, a good twist is one that people get two sentences before it’s revealed, and it all comes together for the reader on their own before it gets confirmed, rather than blindsiding them. As a reader myself, it almost feels rude when something is just dropped on you out of nowhere. It’s really fun and enjoyable when you’re going through something and there’s this underlying mystery and you can feel yourself build it up and explore it. It seems more interactive to me. That’s what I enjoy doing, is leaving those Easter eggs for readers. You have to take into account the pacing as well. Some arcs continue into the third book, and others are only for one chapter.

What strategies do you use to world-build and explore your characters?
There’s nothing worse than all your characters being the same, so I try to make them as different from each other as possible. My goal always, is to make the character’s voice obvious with dialogue tags, but without using obvious clues like catchphrases. Every character is a person; they have words they tend to use and overuse, they have a background that influences their word choices, and that is one of the most important parts of character building to me. As for the world-building, people assumed that since the series is so diversity heavy it would take place in an idealized version of the world without the prejudices we have here. I try to keep in mind, what is different about this world from the world as it is today? How would the existence of these groups of people influence history? That’s where I start to get my structure, and how to put the existence of posthumans into the world itself in a semi-realistic way.

Okay, this is the last question on our list. What advice do you have for people who want to start writing?
Do it. Write. To me, everyone has about a million terrible words in them. Your first couple of stories are not going to be any good. They’re going to be terrible and that’s just the way it is. It’s like any other craft, any other skill; you have to keep working at it. It’s something you acquire over time with practice, by putting in the hours, and it’s not waiting for the moment of pure brilliance and inspiration to strike. You have to work on it every day, and stick to it.

Snapshot Stories Pt. 2/?

I can’t say how many of these there will be. These three snapshots compose the second post in a series I can’t put a number to. The first can be read here. Thankfully, these didn’t manage to be as depressing as the first set, with #6 perhaps being the exception. These, more for me maybe than anyone else, have been a blessing. They give me a small writing project as I travel to and from work. They allow me to hone my craft in the little ways. They keep me immersed in writing, even when it’s not a big project. Plus, they’re a ton of fun.

In honor of the snapshots in the hall.


The sign screamed, “DANGER” but he didn’t hear it.  Instead, he leaned casually against the edifice, pulling his tie tightly into a knot. The sheer walls of smoothly cut stone rose sharply around him, but they didn’t intimidate him. Even the dark hole marked with danger didn’t intimidate him. This was his territory. He was comfortable in it. If he’d wanted to, he could have dusted the stains of his pants and boots. If he’d wanted to, he could have had a suit to pair with his tie. But he didn’t want to. He was proud of the stains and his clothing. Every stone, every pipe, every rail had passed through his crafting palms, and that gave him power.


She despised nothing so much as country roads. The car’s thin wheels carved its own rivers in the road, but the second the infernal machine crossed another set of tracks, the car jumped, and her teeth set to rattling. The only thing keeping her hat on her head was a ribbon that only ended up choking her. The driver argued that the view was beautiful, as if that could persuade her. Dust aggressively rained into her eyes. How could she see any view in conditions like this? Much less enjoy it. Besides, the views hid behind pitiful fences of basic wood and wire. She’d have to look past the eyesores just to appreciate the mountains. No, she despised the whole endeavor: the hot sun, the bumpy roads, and she resented the dust hiding in the creases of her favorite dress.


Hell was smoky – the heavy kind of smoky that accompanied the acrid smell of burning wood. Hell was carpeted with thick, grimy dirt and prickly, broken branches. Hell had no sun. Hell had no sky. And hell heard only the cries of fallen men and echoing gunshots. He didn’t count the soldiers next to him as signs of life. Either they were dead men walking, or they’d long since given up on being anything else. The trees, destroyed and splintered, still reached for the unseen sky in a wicked parody of fingers. His own fingers twitched in reflex as he peered through the scope and waited for the illusion of a pause to end. In hell, there was no peace. And every time peace settled in his bones, he reminded himself that it was a lie. This was hell. This was war.

Just a reminder that these are not historical and include no basis for fact. They are only the musings of an overly-inspired writer trying to glimpse into a moment of time. Still, I hope you enjoy them.

Everything in D.C. is Haunted – RGADC

Here’s a fun challenge: take a stroll around Lafayette Square as the sunlight wanes, and peer into every uncovered window. There is a ghost in every single one of them. Everywhere in D.C. is haunted: Lafayette Square, Georgetown, the White House. And why shouldn’t the White House be haunted? Imagine all of the tragedies, injustices, and scandals that have plagued politicians who have stepped foot in the White House. So of course those ghosts would lurk in the nooks and crannies of the Oval Office.

(The Obama family and I are close, personal friends. You just can’t tell by this picture.)

I don’t plan get into an argument over the existence of the supernatural. That can be interpreted many ways and is not the point of this post.

So when I say ghost, I mean a different ghost than the sheets floating around on Halloween or the vengeful spirits in horror films. Ghosts, by definition, are shades of the dead. Again, I won’t argue whether these shades are real or not. But the dead always leave behind a legacy, an imprint, of their lives. Whether this imprint exists in their lineage, their contributions, their photographs or families, etc. something of theirs remains with the living.

(Imagine seeing the faces hidden behind these panes.)

These are their ghosts.

These are their remnants.

These are their stories.

(Seriously every place I walk by looks beautiful, including the Blair-Lee House.)

One of the best realizations I’ve had in D.C. is that I am standing in the middle of history. The argument could be made that everything has history, and it’s true. We just don’t know what it is. Washington’s history, though, is the history of textbooks that we’ve been made to study in classrooms for years. This is a place of famous history, remembered history, and infamous history.

For instance, I can see a play anywhere, any time. But there’s something incredible about having tickets to see one performed at Ford’s Theater. It’s powerful, and rather eerie to sit yards from where Lincoln was shot and killed. Then to see the home of Major Rathbone, who was stabbed in his attempts to apprehend Booth in the moments following the assassination, lost his mind, possibly because he was haunted by the assassination, and attacked his children. When his wife tried to protect them, he shot and fatally stabbed her before stabbing himself multiple times, almost recreating the moment Booth had escaped that day. His family didn’t escape the scars, even once he was sent to a mental asylum to live out the rest of his life. His daughter broke down in the following years, and she, too, was sent to a mental asylum.

(The Octagon House may be one of the most haunted places in D.C. after surviving multiple tragedies and the devastations of war.)

Walking down the street and seeing the styles of architecture change is impressive in itself. Houses rich with history are preserved, kept carefully maintained so that their relevance is never lost. Like the Octagon House, owned by the Tayloes, where First Lady Dolley Madison found sanctuary when the British burned the White House during the War of 1812. She lit candles in the windows when she received news of the war’s end. However, the house has more dark history. Two of Tayloe’s daughters “tripped” and fell down the stairs to their deaths, only a few years apart. Perhaps this is coincidence, though I suspect murder. Supposedly, their apparitions haunt the second and third floor staircases and landings. The thuds of their falls can be heard during the nights, and one daughter still hums to herself as she forlornly wanders the house.

My academic course this semester is called Scandalous Washington, and our focus is to explore the history of political scandals, tragedies, and mysteries that have befallen the city since it was built. We’ve been able to tour several places thus far, but there are still so many stories to see. If it involved espionage, murder, suicide, slavery, scandals, or (best of all) hauntings, chances are we’ll discuss it and visit it this semester. The above stories are only some of the things we’ve studied in just two weeks of class.

But there’s so much more. Like the murder of Mary Pinchot Meyer that we discussed while walking down to Georgetown’s waterfront. She was killed in 1964 by two gunshots at point blank range. Which wouldn’t have been quite such a scandalous event, had she not been a popular socialite. Which still would have died down quickly, had she not been killed only a year after her lover, John F. Kennedy was shot in Dallas, Texas. Maybe she knew too much? Maybe it was a cover up? After all, her diary was never found.

Or The Exorcist stairs featured in the 1973 movie? We saw those, and the house where the story was set. They’re in Georgetown. I’ve never seen the movie, and, frankly, I don’t plan to, but the exorcism case of Roland Doe, on which the movie was based, was included in our class. Especially since the movie was filmed in part at the Catholic Georgetown University, (scandal!) which ordinarily would not acknowledge or condone the practice of exorcisms.

(Nowadays the stairs are used mostly for exercising, since they’re killer steep.)

Whether you believe you could actually glimpse the apparitions of Clara Rathbone, or the Tayloe girls, or even Dolley Madison, who apparently can be glimpsed in multiple locations all over D.C. since she didn’t party nearly enough while she was alive, their ghosts are still there. We remember their stories, no matter how horrible or tragic. We have allowed the ghosts of the past to stay in our thoughts and memories, because they were important in shaping our present. A ghost doesn’t have to be a tangible spirit. A ghost can be a memory; a ghost can be thought; a ghost can be an instant.

All of these can be found across Washington D.C. because the past is so rich here. And since history spawns ghosts, everything in D.C. is haunted. And since history is made every second, there will always be more for me to see.

(The iconic clock tower of Healy Hall at Georgetown University, built circa 1879.)

Snapshot Stories Pt. 1/?

Many photographs line the hall in route to my office. Though they are all recognizably pictures that are housed in the Archives, they are not obviously attached to moments, stories, or people. It’s a long hallway too. Walking by them everyday inspires me, in a sense. Every photo in that hallway has a story we cannot hope to glimpse. It’s both beautiful and sad. I can’t speak for the people in these images. I can’t pinpoint their emotion or their history. But they still make me wonder.

I should clarify: the following paragraphs are not stories. They have no beginning or end. They are snapshots, like I see on the wall on the way to work. They are based solely on my initial impression of the photo. I leave many specifics to the imagination because I can only hope to imagine them as well.

I don’t expect much from these snapshots. I jotted them down on the metro, or while walking around, or whenever the next sentence hit me. But at the very least, I hope they make readers feel something, anything, in honor of the snapshots in the hall.

Every soul in town had found their way to that street. Fabric scraped on fabric as the bodies undulated, struggling against each other to move forward. Someone hit her – hard – from her right. Instinctively, she elbowed back and pulled her hat more tightly to her head. People around her moved with a purpose, even if they weren’t going anywhere. She wondered if the crowd pressed around her was slowly pushing her back, away from the square that she, and everyone else, tried so desperately to reach. She wanted to push back against the pressure and come up closer to the front. But this sea couldn’t be cut through so easily, and the people that comprised it were determined to oppose her. Instead, she planted her feet and fought the sway and hoped to witness what she could.

“Stay close to me,” she whispered fiercely.
They were hesitant, enough to stay by her, but she worried about their curiosity. There was not much for them at home. Frankly, she wouldn’t blame them for wandering off if they could find something better. Part of her still hoped for them. But what remained of her hope trickled away from her as slowly as the grimy water trickled into the drain. The part of her that wanted them to stay clung still to their grubby arms. But even that part was uncertain enough to let the course fabric lay loose in her grasp. Hair fell in matted tangles in front of her eyes as she stared blankly toward the end of the cobblestone street. She didn’t know where they would all end up. And a dying part of her still fought to care.

This wasn’t a line, he thought; it was a stalemate. If he moved at all, it was only to shuffle a few inches forward before settling into waiting again. He didn’t dare set his suitcase down, for fear someone would make off with what precious belongings he had left without a thought to him. But his arm tired the longer he carried his things, and the thought of taking the risk was so tempting… Worse than the pain creeping like a worm up his arm was the desolation he had to look at while he stood. There was no where that had gone untouched by the damage, no safe place to rest his eyes. He pitied the souls of the children who couldn’t fathom the situation. He empathized with the families struggling to stay calm. But all the staring and waiting and shuffling and standing had distanced him from the rubble, and he wondered only where he’d end up, without worrying over the home he’d lost.

More of these turned out sad than I intended. Of course, in order for a photograph to be in the Archives, it must have permanent relevance of some sort. And I suppose many of the moments that have permanent relevance are the tragic ones.

Just a reminder that these are not historical and include no basis for fact. They are only the musings of an overly-inspired writer trying to glimpse into a moment of time. Still, I hope you enjoy them.

I Signed the Declaration of Independence – RGADC


(Hello, internship! How do I look?)

When my Mimi first asked what I would be doing at my internship, I proudly told her – in the words made famous by Nicholas Cage: “I’m going to steal the Declaration of Independence.” Which elicited a look of horror from her.

Of course, I won’t actually steal the Declaration in my time here.

(But I sure can try!)

I’ll be too busy keeping up with everything else that’s going on. And, honestly, who would want to steal the Declaration anyway? How could that end up going remotely well? I’d hate to be the person caught selling it on the black market. America would call for a lynching. For that matter, what poor idiot would buy the thing?

But while I wouldn’t hang the Declaration of Independence on my wall, I sure love walking by and looking at it any day I choose. It is beautiful. It is powerful. It is something else. Things like this get me goofily excited about history.

(What I wouldn’t give to have my signature immortalized. Oh, look!)

In fact, the whole internship gets me goofily excited about history. Specifically, I work in the Department of Education and Public Programming. We ensure that visitors gain the most from their experience at the National Archives. We have a center, called the Boeing Learning Center, open from 10 – 4 every day. For one thing, it’s the only space in the museum where photography is allowed (see above photo of me with the Declaration). Secondly, we have access to over 1,000 facsimiles of documents for the public to peruse. These include state specific records, the Zimmerman telegram, the Articles of Confederation, and more. Fun fact: the Articles are sewn together on parchment that reaches 13 feet in length.

See how much I’m learning? Everyone here retains incredible amounts of information; I don’t feel like they get enough credit for their hard work. Maybe by the end of the semester I’ll be able to accurately point someone to a cool document in their home state and detail its history. Realistically though, I doubt I’ll be as incredible as my supervisor. In my efforts though, I plan to explore the files thoroughly to familiarize myself with them.

(Doesn’t everyone here seem so nice? They are.)

I’ve felt insanely well-welcomed. The first week focused primarily on orientation, but as we get into this next week, we will begin to delve into our personal projects. Already I have a deadline for a huge blog post that I’ll be compiling over the next few weeks.

Writing with social media allows me to expand my flexibility within my field. Certainly so far it’s been very different than the writing I’m accustomed to: creative writing, personal blogging, and journalistic. This is interpretive writing. While I hope I can adjust quickly, I’m glad I can step out of my comfort zone and learn to write in various ways.

(Did I mention the gorgeous building?)

And I’m learning a ton on top of that. I can’t express how valuable it is for visitors at the Archives to experience some of our holdings hands-on. Even if its a copy, there’s a different feel to it than looking through a pane of glass. Everyone should make a stop at the Learning Center, if at least to see the specific documents from their state. For me already it has made the experience here much more valuable.

Really, everything here is incredible. In the Archives. In the Washington Center. And in D.C. in general. Let’s get excited about America!

(Our banner yet waves.)

Also, on a slightly unrelated note, there are presidents everywhere I turn in D.C. They’re at work, they’re on memorials, they’re on tv (since I’ve had to watch Scandal and House of Cards since arriving). They even made an appearance at the Nationals game on Sunday. And as awesome as that was, it was also a little frightening. Let’s get excited about America?

(Say hi to Teddy and George! Maybe we’re getting too excited now?)

First Things First – RGADC

(The first glimpse of the city out the window of the plane.)

True to form, the very first thing I did when I arrived in D.C. was get sick.

It wasn’t a terrible illness, but the cold put quite the damper on my orientation experience. I slept far more than I was awake, which is very unlike me. And imagine my dismay that my first impression on my roommates was snotty, sneezy, and sleepy!

First impressions are crucial in forming an attitude with which to face the year. Thankfully, the first impression D.C. made on me was close to perfect. I had to fight through the illness to get out and do anything, but even when I was stuck in the apartment, I was basking in the city. I enjoyed every second (even the ones I slept through) just because I’m here.

And I’ve still managed to get in a number of “firsts.”

– I’ve been to the national mall for the first time. I didn’t feel remotely like a tourist. Actually, I felt like I belonged there. It was so natural, so expected. Every time I look out a window, really, I feel like I belong here. I’m living here and working here for 15 weeks. I’m no tourist; I’m a part of the city.

(Guess where I’m spending a semester. Just guess.)

– I’ve already seen my first rain. And my second, for that matter. We’ve been warned to keep an umbrella on us at all times (and I’ve felt super classy carrying my new umbrella from H&M). I keep watching the rain with an awe that no one seems to understand, especially if they see rain all the time. But hey – rain is a powerful thing, and we don’t see much of it in Texas.

– I love the first impression I’ve gotten of my roommates. Katie and I share one bedroom, while Aki and Jasmin are in the other. They are fantastic girls, so nice and so understanding, and I hope to get to know them better as the semester goes on. Maybe next weekend, I’ll actually be able to go out and grab dinner with them.

– I’ve had my first soda since giving them up. This is a little disappointing, since I only gave them up less than a week ago, but Sprite is my self-proclaimed cure-all. Cold, stomach ache, or you name it, and Sprite will make me feel better. Of course, I rarely touch it unless I’m sick. So, other than a few glasses of Sprite, I’ve been doing fairly well on the soda front.

(My last soda before giving them up.)

– I’ve ridden the metro for the first time and feel like a pro. I am confident that I could find my way around D.C. in a heartbeat. The iTrans app helps, telling me exactly what trains to take. The system just isn’t as complicated as I expected it to be, so I’ve just stayed confident and walked. Plus, I love the feeling I get of just being a part of that flow: so professional, so adult, and so active.

(The metro: hot, muggy, but thrilling.)

– And speaking of adult and professional, I’ve had my first day of course programming. The greatest thing about it though, was that we were treated like adults. We were required to go for our course programming, and, though our coordinator gave us directions, he let us go entirely on our own. Being treated like an adult instead of a student is a refreshing breath of air. I’m about to face the world on my own, more or less, and I need to know how to do that. Having that precedent set early on, makes me excited for the responsibility the year will hold. (Silly, right?)

– Then there was my first event. After staying in bed basically since I arrived, I finally got out for the annual Labor Day concert. I only expect to be in D.C. this one Labor Day and the opportunity was too good to pass up. And I was right; it was totally worth the effort. The music (which included numerous patriotic pieces, Broadway, Beatles, and more) really warmed my heart. After the night as over, I felt pretty dizzy, but I was desperate to get out, and I am so glad I had.

(If this is beautiful,the music was so much more so.)

Then there are the firsts I have not had yet.

– First day at the National Archives (though orientation is tomorrow).
– First meeting of our Civic Engagement project (and I have yet to find out what it is).
– First day of class (which will also be tomorrow).
– First brunch with the President (which I will probably never have).

But, of course, I’ll be sure to keep you posted on my adventures as they come, firsts or otherwise.