Books have always been a part of my soul.

My love of books is from my grandparents. Growing up, my grandfather would take me to the library everyday after school and I remember thinking it was the most magical place in the world. By the time I hit middle school, my love for reading was insatiable and my daydreams were filled with fantasies about being an author myself someday. In my teenage years I ended up writing many books— books that were badly written, but filled with magic, wonder, and an honesty I don’t think I’ll ever be able to achieve again. Then I grew up.

My writing was shelved in favor of staying out with friends and going to college. It was shelved while I fell in love and got married. It was shelved while I tried to figure out who I was and what I wanted to do in this big scary world.

I can’t tell you exactly when the sparkling kernels of ideas started coming back to me; it was somewhere during the day to day slush— folded magically in the spaces between my 9 to 5 job and my renewed appetite for reading. It’s a funny thing becoming an adult, the monotonous routine everyone seems to dread when you’re a kid is really just an opportunity to find creative ways to fill the space and find purpose. And to find my purpose I started writing again.

For two years all I had was a very decisive heroine and her very eclectic companions. Eventually the characters showed me their own purposes and took me on their adventure, but mostly I spent two wonderful years getting to know them, and myself, again.

I’m so excited to be able to share my stories and my magic with the world and I hope wherever you are, whatever you’re doing, you find a little magic of your own.

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