Rumor has it that at the ripe old age of two or three I sat in a child-sized rocking chair, steno pad in one hand, pen in another. I dutifully wrote things down, legs crossed, mind engrossed in whatever I was up to. The writing bug never left, and in high school, when it was time to talk about our futures, I had every intention of moving into a writing career. Journalism seemed the way to go about it, but life took a funny turn, and I was soon traveling across the states to help family, teenage dreams left unfulfilled.

Many years later, living in a different country, married and with two children, I sat on the floor of our little house and read Grandfather’s Journey to my sons. We followed Allen Say’s journey from Japan to America and back to Japan. The heartache of being away from either side of his family and feeling homesick no matter where he lived pricked something deep in my heart, but it was my eldest, with childlike innocence, who named the emotion. “He understands. Grandfather knows exactly how I feel!” My son clutched the book to his chest and sighed. 

At five, he didn’t have the words to express the emotions he was struggling with, that while we lived in Australia, he missed the relatives left behind in America. The moment has remained forever etched on my heart. Not just as a mother, but also as a reader. Another decade later, I was neck deep in caring for my mother-in-law, who was dealing with dementia. It was an emotional road and one where I learned to mourn as I worked through each new hiccup. Sitting down one day with the book The Thirty-Six Hour Day, I was soon sobbing on the floor. The opening story in the book was oh so familiar, and some names were even correct. Not for the first time, I had the overwhelming sense that I wasn’t alone because someone out there understood and was brave enough to write about it.

In the wake of caregiving, I processed a lot of my emotions through writing, and found myself again. I’ve often heard women speak of coming alive again once their children leave home, and always wondered how they’d gotten lost to begin with. In that moment I understood what they meant, and realized I wanted to be brave enough to write the stories that would make others say, “Someone understands.” And if you should clutch the book to your chest, I promise I won’t laugh.

Today, I’m an active member of Shut Up & Write, Pitch To Published and Writers of the Upper Cumberland, continuing to hone my craft alongside fellow writers. I’m an Honorable Mention recipient in the 2024 NYC Midnight Micro Fiction Challenge, have completed three women’s fiction manuscripts and am actively seeking representation. I have Irlen Syndrome, a neurological disorder that affects how my brain processes sensory information—especially visual input. I navigate the world with specially tinted glasses that help reduce distortion, fatigue, and overwhelm. Yes, they look like sunglasses. No, I’m not trying to look cool. I live in Tennessee with my family and frequently negotiate pencil ownership with Buttersnaps, the family cockatiel.