Lilian D. Vercauteren was born and raised in the Netherlands, but felt since a young age drawn to America's wide open spaces. At age 22 she came to Michigan ("for a year or so") and ten years later she lives, works and writes in Tucson, Arizona. She has studied at the Writers Studio, and has had her work published by the Lowestoft Chronicle, The Missing Slate and forthcoming from After The Pause. She is currently working on her first novel which is about pie and a sharp-witted Dutchman.
sto•ry noun. 1. how to fill silence: a. when the coffee is gone, I play with the mug handle, flip my glasses, tell a story about leaving because it’s been an hour and I’m only here because you ask me every week. b. Like those times when we’re lying in bed side by side and you tell me a story that I’ll forget because you’re not there to talk. 2. a tale told around a fire, over a beer: “writers and storytellers, they’re different,” she told me, “storytellers are actors, enthusiasts, those people who couldn’t stop talking if they wanted to. Writers, though, writers see something and don’t tell anybody — but they must get it down on the page.” 3. your truth: as in when you meet someone on the street corner in Portland when you start over with red hair and the nice man with the beard asks, “what’s your story,” and you only tell him, “I’m 22, I need glasses to see, and I’m a writer.”