I began writing – mostly poems – as a withdrawn teenager. It was like therapy, or an emotional outlet (more on my angst later). At the time I didn’t have the self-esteem to think that I could share any of my work. After all, no one listened to me when I spoke, why would I let them see my thoughts? Then life took over, otherwise known as practicality: job, marriage, and children. I was now a happier person, but had less time for my own guilty pleasures.
Over the years, as the children grew, I started dabbling again. I wrote some poetry, and I wrote and illustrated a couple of children’s books. I had the need to create, but couldn’t find my niche. I wanted to write something more profound than children’s picture books, but not necessarily adult topics. Then I found YA. I have fallen in love. I think about writing day and night. And I observe more of life thinking, how would I write that?
My goal is to create characters, and a story that my reader can connect with. I want to evoke true emotions, that leave you with a catch in your breath, or a quiver in your chest. I want you to feel a weakness in your limbs, and think about it when you go to sleep.