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Louise Krug grew up in Michigan and attended the University of Kansas in Lawrence, graduating with a BA in journalism. After undergoing two craniotomies at the Mayo Clinic to remove a cavernous angioma, she gradually regained the ability to walk and use of her right hand. In 2005, she returned to Lawrence, where she has since graduated from the University of Kansas with an MFA and a PhD creative writing. She now is an Assistant Professor of nonfiction writing at Washburn University in Topeka where she lives with her husband and two children.
News About Louise
Louise recently was the final judge for the Hefner-Heinz Kansas Book Award for Non-Fiction. She’ll be participating on a panel at the Kansas Book Festival in Topeka on Sept. 18, 2021. The panel will be a conversation with Rebekah Taussig, author of the winning book, Sitting Pretty: The View from My Ordinary Resilient Disabled Body.
Who Am I and How Do You Find Me?
Here is how I find my special place on the map. First, I look at the map of my country and find my state. I live in:
Compare Kansas, where you live now, to Michigan, where you grew up; it never gets old, though it probably should. Weigh flowering trees, dirt (black and clay-like here vs. sandy there) and beauty trends (in West Michigan, a highly Dutch-area, all the girls seemed to be tall, tan, and blonde, so tanning salons were something you all frequented from age 13 up, although that could have been the 1990’s, too. And what are beauty trends in Kansas? The same??). “The squirrels are black up here!” is the one thing you remember about bringing a college boyfriend home for Thanksgiving. Be a snob about Kansas foods (Chicken and Noodles: what a starch-filled salt-lick!) and lack of knowledge about what a real lake looks like (“You shouldn’t be able to see the other side!”) but know in your heart that you can’t imagine not living here. It’s been so long. You think the Flint Hills are heart-stopping. Your children have Kansas on their birth certificates.
Then, I look at the map of my state and find my town. I live in:
When you get your first real job at thirty-four, move to a city that has a downtown that is busy with important government workers during the week, but vacant on the weekends. Coming from a hipster college town that is the bluest county in the state, you think it will be hard to get used to this place, but it isn’t. Make friends with lots of neighbors like you have always wanted to, borrowing sugar and cackling about politics. Treasure the fact that your kids are still young enough to like their hometown.
Hate anybody who makes fun of this place.
Next, I look at the map of my town and find my street. My street name is: Run for block captain of your neighborhood. Uncontested. The former block captain, a man who had lived in the neighborhood forever, a hippie with a hot tub you envy, begged you to take over. Being block captain is more and less work than you imagined, and you are terrible at it (never emailing back other neighborhood officials, forgetting to bring new neighbors Welcome Baskets, skipping meetings, etc.).
And on my street, I find my house. My house number is: Buy a house in which the yard is completely overgrown. The previous owner was a lawyer and told your realtor, “I’m from Oregon, so I like that woodsy feeling.” Watch as your husband and family members remove the overgrowth for days, and say, “Don’t get rid of that Secret Garden look!”
The house was built in 1907, and the first night in the house you notice the stairs are so creaky that you tell your husband you’ve made a mistake. At least you can always hear your kids coming down after you’ve put them to bed.
Listen to cicadas, fireworks, the train, and the highway. Start applying under-eye concealer. Realize one night that your daughter insists on a shut-door policy for changing clothes. When did that happen?
In my house, I find my room. And in my room, I find me! Break the rule about using your bed only for sleeping and not reading. Your side of the bed has three more blankets than Nick’s. Lay your workout clothes out the night before, and stop folding laundry, just shove them in drawers. You have bigger fish to fry. You are very close to forty.
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Louise Krug 