I was blessed to grow up surrounded by books and people who read them, a childhood where books were given as gifts, placed on the stack of "next," then placed on a bookshelf after being read and enjoyed. Sometimes we lent books to friends, making sure to carefully write our name on the inside cover. 

Trips to the library were woven into our weekends growing up. Every member of my family would leave with a stack of books, some to be skimmed, some to be started and never finished, others to weave their spells over us like magic, stealing precious hours from our lives while chores and homework went ignored, keeping us willing captives until we'd savored and lamented the final sentence on the final page. 

Everyone–and I stand by that–loves a good story. 

One with complex, utterly human characters, rich emotional depth, and fly-on-the-wall scenes that compel the reader (or viewer, for movie fans) to hang on, to go along for the ride. To be a part of the story, even if from the outside looking in as an observer in the room. 
 
Because we have to find out how all of this ends. 
 
I tell myself stories while I people watch. I could sit for hours on a bench at a park, watching people interact, how they interact, what they’re doing, the looks on their faces. Joy. Irritation. Weariness. Romance. Love. Instantly, my imagination begins knitting together stories, scene descriptions first, then backstories, then context. Dramatic scenes.  
 
It’s a delicious and delightful escape from my own story, which isn’t exactly what I want it to be. (Is anyone’s?) Life can be harrowing, boring, exhausting, and lonely at times, even between all the great parts. (And we need to remember the great parts.)
 
I've wanted to be a writer ever since I can remember. To write down the happily-ever-afters I imagine for every underdog. To write down the redemption stories I pray for the hardest of hearts.  To write down the victorious endings I hope for people who take wonderful risks. 

I had a reckoning in August 2025 when I turned the page on another year, the exact age my Mom was unexpectedly torn from this physical realm, just after the birth of her youngest's first baby. Whatever she'd hoped to do with her bonus years post-retirement was left abandoned, unanswered, left to fade into the ether. 

I made a decision. 

In this new once-in-a-lifetime season of my own journey through what I hope is an eternal life, I’m ready to write and share my characters and their stories with you. 

And while I'm having fun doing that, I'll be cheering you on to go for your own brass ring. (Nod to Grandpa Mauldin.)
 
If you’re hoping to escape your own story for a little while, well...I hope you’ll find your own secret getaway here!  

Love,