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Turning to Stone in Arizona
I sat on the stone wall with my feet dangling over a long drop. Spread out before me were the dazzling reds, pinks and purples of the painted desert. The colors swirled and swooped in graceful arcs across the desert hills. Behind the glowing hills, 120 miles away, rose dark jagged peaks topped by the piercing blue sky. I was alone. For twenty minutes I munched on my lunch admiring the painted desert.

Annie Taylor
I am a writer, traveler, observer and inveterate question-asker.
I write about the places we go, the lives we build, the people we love and the strange internal negotiations required to figure out who we are when the life we expected is no longer the life we're living.
Sometimes that means traveling across the country in a campervan named Wilbur. Sometimes it means wandering through history, national parks and very small museums. And lately, it has meant convening an imaginary court.
My latest project, The Constitutional Case Files, began as a way of examining the evidence of my own life: grief, relationships, boundaries, memory, belonging, independence and the complicated business of becoming yourself again. Part personal essay and part judicial opinion—with occasional objections from an unruly internal counsel—the cases ask a question I've spent much of my life asking:
What does the evidence actually say?
I also write fiction, mysteries and travel essays, because apparently one rabbit hole has never been enough.

