story.

Everyone’s got a good one. I’ve got a lot.

You wouldn’t know it looking at me, fairly ‘standard, blend into the crowd’ looks and all, but somehow I attract intense, irrational and complex experiences.

I used to feel weird. I found it perplexing, but I’ve since realized that like a healer who gathers herbs, those experiences are writer’s gold. In addition to providing empathic wisdom, I have actual stories from which to drive my imagination.

Every adventure matters. No trauma is wasted.

So now, I raise my head high and wait for the stories to come to me. This isn’t to say I no longer feel weird. I just embrace it. Disguised as a funny, smart and playful suburban housewife, I camouflage my ‘weird’ in plain sight, and write.