I find it easier to explain myself through my experiences with others’ writing.
If you were to peer into my soul, you would see a display of my late-night highlighted sentences and the pen’s ink bruising my favorite words. And if you were to peer into my brain, you would see what happens when a reader of fiction and non-fiction and poetry and everything in between falls in love and decides (or more accurately, realizes) that these are who will teach her.
However, this isn’t true for all of me. For example, my name is Sarah Suzanne Pusser. Though I would like to say my parents named me after their favorite heroine in a book, I hate to inform you that my name is a medley of my family’s names before me — Sarah, being my mother’s middle name, Suzanne, being my aunt’s middle name, and Pusser, being the last name my father brought to the family that either people can’t pronounce or are too scared to try to.
But who am I if only the attributes I never got to choose for myself?
I grew up being told that knowledge is power. And while this is true, knowledge can also be “silly.” On my seventh birthday, I was gifted Judy Blume’s “Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing,” along with the rest of the “Fudge” series. It was my treat after what felt like a lifetime of farm chores (I had to pick blueberries). Curled up in a ball on my bed, I just remember laughing, and laughing, and laughing. And in the moments of silence, I remember learning that it wasn’t just me who thought being an older sibling was hard.
I am someone who finds both purpose and joy in learning. I am a proud older sister to the most wonderful younger brother.
In eighth grade, I wanted to challenge myself by reading a “really difficult book.” So, of course, I chose John Bunyan’s “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” and boy did I hate it. I spent weeks forcing myself to “just get to the next page.” But eventually, I was done with the book, and with the feeling of pride for keeping my promise to finish the book came another feeling that something else had to be done; every piece of information I’d just read deserved to continue living. I talked to everyone I could. I asked my friends what they thought happened when they died (I know, what a mood killer), I asked my parents if they believed in religion, and through this relationship of telling and questioning, I taught those around me a single perspective (John Bunyan’s), and in return gained the perspective of dozens of others.
I am someone who keeps a promise (no matter how indigestible the writing is). I am someone who asks questions. I am someone who believes that curiosity and teaching should be paired together.
I picked up Donna Tartt’s “The Goldfinch” because I loved the cover, and you can imagine my excitement when I figured out that the story was even better. I found myself sneaking a headlamp into my room on school nights so I could learn more about the life of Theodore Decker; simply put, this was my first instance of being emotionally attached to a book. I just needed to read it. Writing this now, I can’t really put into words why I loved this book—all I know is that this was the book that revealed my love of writing. I saw how language changed my perception of the world, and I wanted to be the creator of that for others.
I am a writer. I am a writer. I am a writer.
Now, as a member of Duke’s class of 2028 and the Duke Research Blog, I am excited to introduce my curiosity to the infinite realms of research at Duke and let my love for writing curate the questions and answers into something you will look forward to reading.
