World Book Day

World book day was a little while ago.  I went to my shelf and contemplated what my favorite book is after all these years of being in love with the realm of stories.

It’s probably one of the most difficult questions to ask a book lover… you want me to pick just one?? (you can hear the shrillness of my voice, I’m sure.)

Since the person who initially asked me that question was, well, me I decided that I could break the rules and pick a small collection of favorites instead of just one.  Because really, what was I going to do about it?


What I selected were the works that held special meaning to me and what I feel most influenced by.

  • The Neverending Story by Michael Ende
  • Lord of the Flies by William Golding
  • Peter Pan by JM Barrie
  • Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll
  • Sector 7 by David Wiesner

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Herding Whales

It’s been a very busy last few weeks trying to get organized enough to start a productive writing schedule and really get to work.  My brain is constantly fuzzy and I go to bed and wake up STILL sorting through all the to-does and trying to separate them clearly so I can prioritize and get to what I really want.  It’s been absolute madness and chaos…

People talk about organizing chaos like herding cats…

But… you see… I don’t like cats sooooooooo instead I’m going to use whales.  Enjoy a brief comic of the lunacy going on inside my head…


When it began

I don’t remember the moment when I decided I wanted to be a writer.

What I remember is growing up and making up stories, either in my head or writing silly little garage plays and forcing my younger sister to act them out.  I have always read, and I have always daydreamed.  Looking back, I remember writing stories as a child; stories of little girls named Strawberry and Blueberry, stories of princesses with special powers, urban legends from our summer bible camp, even World of Warcraft fan fiction (don’t you dare judge me!)  but for whatever reason it never occurred to me that writing stories could be a profession.

My first job out of college was in a zoo, a wonderful place for an active imagination, and when the weather became too cold and we sold very few tickets I’d often sit in my little office doing nothing, and so I read.  When management told me I wasn’t allowed to read I decided, “okay, fine.  I’ll just write my own story then…” and so I took a yellow legal pad and began.

This was in 2009.  By 2010 I knew I had a story.  Somewhere in the tangle of poorly developed characters, cheesy dialogue and highly suspicious and coincidental, not to mention predictable, plot lines there was a story, I just had to dig it out.

And while I wasn’t sure if it would be anything worth publishing, it excited me.  It was the book I always wanted to read.  That was enough.


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