Jennifer Walker, NV

Senior Writer

Jennifer is an author, copywriter/editor, and ghostwriter originally from Chicago, Illinois. Having lived in cities scattered from east to west, she currently resides in Las Vegas, Nevada, and covers industry news as associate editor for a local print publication. Graduating with a bachelor’s degree in writing (minor in poetry) from Columbia College Chicago, she’s applied her journalistic know-how to projects and publications ranging in topic from music to weddings to cannabis and beyond. With a passion for people, Jennifer loves a great human-interest story. Working as a radio DJ, as well as bartending in casinos and local pubs, throughout her formative years has provided her with a plethora of creative material and a patient ear. She loves music, art, bad movies, and is forever in search of the perfect cup of coffee.

As a Story Terrace writer, Jennifer interviews customers and turns their life stories into books. Get to know her better by reading her autobiographical anecdote below.


I woke up with a sinking feeling. An obligatory feeling of something to do, somewhere to be. It’s Thursday, and Thursday is mathematics class day. My least favorite day. Looking outside my bedroom window that’s frosted over with ice veins and calcified dirt, the morning looks ominous. Running fingers over the frozen inside of the glass, where somehow the elements have seeped through, getting this day started is an uphill battle.

Internally shuddering with the thought of braving Michigan Avenue on this particularly dreary winter day, I down the last dregs of my coffee and milk. It’ll be at least an hour and a half until I can grab another cup somewhere, and that’s only if I make the 8:15 a.m. train. I take a moment to turn sideways and check my silhouette—I’m losing weight, I notice. My hip bones protruding on both sides, a sick fascination and approval rises from within me, gutturally melding with the sinking feeling from earlier that still hasn’t entirely dissipated. I’ll be skinnier soon, I concede. That idea resonates like the high an addict probably gets off on. Addicted to progress, I think. I’m addicted to progress.

I finish getting dressed in layers, put my coffee cup in the sink. Out go the lights, sliding the key out of the front door lock, I’m gone. An urban tundra awaits. The blast of frozen early morning air feels like those news reports that warn against freezing lungs. It’s hard to breathe but feels oddly refreshing. I think about a trip in high school that I took to Colorado … the brisk, thin, clean winter air, the stars up there. That was winter. This is winter too, in a cityfied way.

Getting into my Honda, I’m mindful not to slam the door since the hinges are loose and it’s cold out, I don’t want it to stick. I put the key into the ignition and sit with my hands between my thighs. The tip of my nose is cold. Suddenly, I’m wide awake. There’s nothing like a cold morning to force you into alertness! I think about how sleepy and warm my train ride will be. If I get a good seat, I could easily fall asleep again on The L. As the car warms up and the defroster starts to undo the ice of overnight on the windshield, I see that the sun is out now. It’s bright and high creating a visual juxtaposition to the freezing cold weather.

My mind begins to wander; wow, that sun is beautiful. I remember that the museum near campus offers free entry today for students. I go through a mental checklist of how I can edit my schedule today and still get away with passing my class. I’m enabling myself to be lazier today, I can feel the responsible part of my brain sighing with the obviousness of my mental excuses creating today’s new itinerary. I feel the knot loosen in my stomach, my math class anxiety starts to fade replaced with a slightly exhilarated feeling. The freedom of that thought opens up in front of me like an open road. I pull out onto the street and make my way toward the expressway entrance ramp. I turn on the radio, the car is nice and warm now, and I start to remove my outer layers. My hat comes off with a static cling pull, my long dark hair standing on end, splayed out like electricity inside a plasma globe. A quick glance around and I have come to terms with my Thursday agenda as I merge onto the expressway. At least the sun is out. The Van Gogh’s will be amazing in this light. Cobalt and yellow ochre.

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