i suppose i could sit here and rattle off my background, education, career choices and a few sacrifices made, but only a few of those factor into the ‘why’ and ‘what’ propelled me to sit down to pen these stories.
my mother often joked that while in utero—such a cramped space—i would whip out my trusty pen and pad to scribble the musings of my development. this passion later translated into scribbling my considerations and indecipherable loops into books, bibles, magazines and yes, even on walls. before i could write legibly, read, or speak a lick of comprehensible english, i had something to say. therefore, i was going to make certain i was heard by writing it everywhere, and as I grew, so did my passion.
writing isn’t something i gave much consideration to as a career … it was just a release, a way to make sense of life as i grew into it. i should have known something was stirring when the vivid imagery and words from dreams would awaken me filled with a need to write them down on the piece of scrap paper i scrambled for in the dark. i should have known my spirit was given to this craft when my consciousness was pricked and spoke clearly to me the words i should write. i should have known i truly had no choice, no escape, when each time i tried to walk away from this novel the thought—a presence—would state empathically, “you will continue.”
my debut novel, it's simple, was a story placed in my heart. one that gripped me and wouldn’t let me sleep, think or move without some visual, some lesson, some thing that needed to be said. initially, it was never my intention to publish this piece. as with most of my writings, it was for my eyes only. but when the time and student are right—the plan revealed through another vessel—eyes that once believed one thing saw clearly the intended purpose of another.
the question I asked about love stories (what happened to love), i remember asking myself while seated beside my husband’s hospital bed, some years ago, as a team of doctors struggled to determine what was wrong with him. this sole experience is responsible for rekindling my passion. i recall being frustrated with real life stories, television dramas (the little I did watch) and novels that never told or showed positive relationships. they would invariably wind up broken and hardened individuals emerged, marred by life and love. then i heard it; then i listened. one of the first times in my life i didn’t question why. i knew what I had to do. i had to write it, if for no one else—just me.
as i sat beside my husband’s hospital bed, the seed that was planted while safely cocooned in my mother’s womb, long passed the germination and seedling stages, was ready to bear fruit; producing something, creating something, planting a seed in the mind of another.
the roles of my life provided the inspiration behind this work, but none more so than those of wife, mother, sister and friend. i look forward to sharing more with you and the growth that will surely come from our connection. this website is an extension of my home and you’re welcome to it. whatever your intended purpose on this plane of existence, you will, in spite of your indecision or fear or even ignorance as to what exactly it is, eventually be led to fulfill it.