As a small child, I would weave stories to entertain my siblings, stories whispered late at night or on long car rides. Then, when I realized the adults were listening in, I grew shy and struggled to verbally tell my stories, so I switched to writing them in notebooks, and I never looked back. 

As a small child I believed in magic, the kind of magic that can only be found in stories or in laying down in the grass, watching the world from the point of a view from a big. As I have gotten older and entered into the world of adulthood, there were attempts to crush that magic. After all, there is a world filled with taxes, bills, and nine to five jobs for corporations that don't care about people. Thankfully, though, most of my jobs involved me spending hours at a time with toddlers and small children, and they never let me lose sight of the magic.

We live in a world where bees dance, where sunlight paints the leaves, where turtles live for hundreds of years, and where ravens remember wrongs or rights done to them and never forget. We live in a world begging to tell us stories.

For this reason, I remain in the world of magic, and I continue to weave stories. 

I write tales of brave heroes who have to face the darkness of the world and find the light to guide them through. I tell stories about broken people who find hope and family in the most unlikely of places and acquaintances. I spin narratives of magic, of adventure; fairy tales, war stories, and everything in between.

If you still believe there is magic in the world, if you still look for a sliver of light in the darkness, if you still believe there is healing in laying in the grass and watching the trees, then come along with me. Let's enter the world of stories together and see what awaits us.