​During my college years, I backpacked through Europe, and one of the most memorable stops was George Whitman’s Shakespeare and Co. bookstore in Paris. The dust-laden first editions, the slanting floors, and the traveler-worn mattresses tucked between towering shelves of books made an indelible impression on me.

 

I’ll never forget handing George my short biography scribbled on a scrap of paper. I remember gazing out the window at Notre Dame, thinking, What world have I entered?

 

At the time, I didn’t really think of myself as a writer.

But something changed while I was there.

 

I slept among books. I sorted them by day. I read in the shadows of literary legends and shared wine with fellow Tumbleweeds at night. Violin song. Poetry. Laughter.

 

I was surrounded by people who believed stories mattered. Truly, I think we believed we were all part of each other's story. We were living proof that writing and storytelling were not reserved for the chosen few, but were something we were all invited to live—together.

 

By staying there, I became a writer.

Not because someone handed me permission.

Because I had entered a place where it suddenly felt possible.

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Shakespeare and Co. felt like a portal—through time, through story, and into something deeper and intangible. And, since then, I have never forgotten what a place can awaken in a person.

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That sense of story, place, connection, and possibility is what I hope to build with The Book Lodge.

 

A place where stories are told.
A place where people truly listen to one another's stories.

A place where people become one another's stories.
A place where creativity is encouraged, not gatekept.
A place where you might walk in as one thing—and leave having discovered you are so much more.

 

Maybe you already call yourself a writer.
Or an artist.
Or a storyteller.

Maybe you don’t.

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Come anyway.

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Hello, Lodger. Welcome home.