For years, it’s been my joy and my privilege to tell myself stories every day, and to share those stories with others. 

Since I’ve been able to read, I’ve wanted to write. But wanting to write is different from actually writing, and starting a new piece of work is always a struggle.  

I begin with a few rough ideas, and as they tumble around in my head they smooth themselves out, like stones on a shore, the edges rounding, still each its own little piece of the beach, yet all a part of the whole.

I’ve met amazing people who’ve told me the most terrific stories, all inside my head.  I get to create neighborhoods, cities, worlds.

And all I have to do is make myself sit down and begin.