When I was young – maybe around 5 years old – I wrote and illustrated a short story detailing the Biggest Event of my short life: the move from Georgia to Virginia. My teacher, Mrs. Brown, laminated the pages, bound them in a plastic spiral, and submitted it to a city-wide writing competition. I won first place for my age group, and – to my mother’s shock and awe – her painfully shy, too-tall-for-her-age daughter stood up in front of hundreds of people and read that story aloud.

I don’t remember reading it in front of all those people. Momma tells that story with reverence when people ask her about my writing (she has a few of my poems hung up in various rooms in her house, including the bathroom). She has photographic evidence, so I don’t doubt it. I might have just blocked it out. You know, because I was (still am) painfully shy.

As I grew older, the stories grew too. When I wasn’t writing, I was reading. In late middle school/early high school, I cut my teeth on terrible fanfiction. I’m embarrassed by it now, but it helped me find my narrative voice – so I guess it paid off in the end.

Around the end of my freshman year of high school, my English teacher forced me to switch my Elective class from Fine Arts to Creative Writing. Through that, I became involved in the school’s literary magazine. I entered and won more competitions. And that’s when something inside of me said, “Hey, maybe this could be a thing.“

That’s when it all came screeching to a halt.

Life got busy. I was finishing high school, trying to get into – and pay – for school. I wrote a little, but I was never pleased with it. I still submitted it to the magazine and competitions (primarily for extra credit for my English class – I didn’t expect any of it to land) and won a few prizes. College was even busier – staying up late pouring over case files for Forensic Science classes and doing mock Crime Scene Investigations in the courtyard. Throw in a job and I could barely sleep, much less write.

What about now?

I’m currently living in central Virginia with my wonderful and supportive husband. I’m not working crime scenes or testing evidence in a lab like I had imagined, but I’m working a 9-5, Monday-Friday office job in a cubicle that gives me time to enjoy life.

I’ve started writing again. It feels amazing.

I’m not published yet. We’ll see if that’s in the cards – and you’ll be the first to know – but at least I’m doing what I love.