As a child I created whole worlds for myself into which I could escape the nightmares that only worsened when I woke. I became one of my characters, lost myself in the mythical worlds I built to offer the protection I couldn’t find in reality.  One moment at a time, word by carefully selected word I crafted my survival.  The emotions I was forced to lock away lived and breathed on my pages, allowing me the disconnect to stealth through my darkness. 

At age 9 I won the Oregon Writing Festival for a story I created about a lonely journey through life. At 12, a Children’s Literature magazine published a poem I wrote about one of the worlds I escaped to. And in my teenage years I found a place as a columnist for two newspapers in my hometown.  My path seemed clear.

But circumstances of my past haunted me and the smothering expectations of perfectionism wore me down. What I love, who I was to my very core, took a backseat to the driving forces of life.

Despite my love of writing, I walked away. 

For years I sat quietly in my room, creating worlds I dared not share with anyone for fear of toppling the walls I had carefully crafted to keep the shadows at bay. But my love of writing was always there.  Always fighting for space in the light.

Then, one day I showed my writing to one person.  I added two, three, and four.  They wanted more.  “You have to share with the rest of the world,” they said. 

And that’s exactly what I have done.

I am a woman who has chased the darkness from my dreams.  A woman whose work has helped others do the same. 

Your dreams are your own. Don’t wait for them to come to you. 

Take them from the darkness.