Fire Under My Butt

My love of books and writing has been life-long. I’ve been writing stories since I was around 6, and telling stories since I learned how to form coherent sentences. I’ve wanted to be an author for as long as I can remember.

However, my true passion for the written word started with my Mother. I was a Daddy’s girl from the get-go, and my Mom and I had a very hard time connecting with each other. I was also one of those kids who gets sick all the time. I had a case of strep throat when I was eight, and rather than watching an endless ream of cartoons, my mom read me The Lord Of The Rings©, by J.R.R. Tolkien. I think she intended to stop with the first one, but she read the first two to me and then handed me the third to read on my own. She read for days, over the course of many months (I got better, but I wouldn’t let her stop). I would listen and work on art projects.

The experience taught us something; we could bond over books in a way that no other thing could bring us together. After TLOTR, she introduced me to Dean Koontz, a few other authors that I cannot remember, and then, when I was eleven, she and I read Moonheart©, by Charles De Lint. I couldn’t get enough of it, I read it over and over, until she was almost sick of looking at the book.

Moonheart set a fire under my butt. I wanted to know all about what De Lint called a “taw.” I wanted to learn about different spiritual paths and about Celtic and Native American mythology. I started studying, aided and abetted by my mom’s mother, who we called Ma. She introduced me to Taoism, and later a neighbor began teaching me how to practice Taoism, and introduced me to Zen Buddhism for good measure. I began searching for that ‘something behind the veil;” that ethereal presence that wove itself throughout the pages of Moonheart.

My writing is an extension of that search, a byproduct of the things that I have learned, the choices that I have made, and the beauty that I see in the world around me.


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