Living Stories

The most rewarding experience of continuing to write has been my Son’s response to my writing.

Today he said, “Thanks Mom for working so hard on my stories.” These stories are not just mine, but they are his stories too.He is the first one that hears them.

Gives me suggestions and adds to the plot.

Gets excited about creating a storyboard and helps me.

My Son adding his own work to the storyboard!

At night when he heads to bed, he sees me working at my desk…

He hears typing from the keyboard and the music coming out of the computer speaker, that helps me keep pace while typing the story into word.

He sees me write each story in a notebook.

Before he goes to bed, he finds the stories he wants me to read to him, on my desk.

To me this is the most rewarding experience… Reading my Son our stories.

These stories I created for him have got us through some tough and terrible times, it has allowed both of us to escape. For that, I am greatful.

As I update my blog and add to this webpage, I will be sharing all the reasons these stories have been so important to us, how they came to be and why.

We are living stories. Stories shape our lives and are one of the common threads that connect us all, besides our families and faith.

Accountibility- Why is it so important when writing?

Holding yourself accountible is necessary for any kind of success.

When you are a writer, setting goals and dedlines for yourself will help push you to write and light a fire under you, causing you to write everyday.

One of the big things I have struggled with is finding time to write everyday.

Life happens.

Your kid wants attention.

Your family or a friend invites you over.

You get sick, or your child gets sick.

Unfortunately, as a writer a day lost is the equivalent of not showing up to work.

This is something that family memebers and friends don’t understand.

If you want to write and do it for a living, you should treat writing as a job.

I know I’m not making it sound fun and sometimes it’s not.

It’s not fun writing at 2 or 3 a.m. because you were busy with your child, playing outside with them most of the day.

It’s not fun when your tired, sick, or your body wants to go to sleep.

It’s not easy to get out of bed when you have two hours of sleep a night.

But, I promise it will be worth it…

To see the smile on your Child’s face when he can open up the book you wrote and read it.

To get that 32 cents for the first Children’s book you put up on the Kindle store.

It’s all worth it when you see something that you have dreamed of since you were six years old, actually happing…

And you know what the writing, the sleepless nights?

It’s part of the journey. It’s worth it when you love it.

The journey and process of becoming, living fearlessly, doing what you love…

It’s worth it.

I see many sleepless nights in my future and I will make sure August 29, 2019 that that I meet every single goal I set for myself.

I am not only holding myself accountable, but making sure that my readers hold me accountable as well.

The world needs my story.

New Page Updates!

New updates are in progress…

Please be patient with me as I update my website. There are several new things that you will notice.

  • I have added a static web page.
  • I have added one of my published books to my page with a link for purchase.
  • I have updated and I am in the process of creating new menus.
  • New widgets have been added at the bottom of the web page, and I might add a few more.

I am hoping that this will help readers and visitors navigate my website more easily. Please let me know what you think as I continue the process.

August 29, 2019…

Exciting things are coming! Soon, more information will be added to my site about the new book coming to Kindle in August 29, 2013. You will be able to read about some of the characters and places. I want to create a totally awesome and immersive experience for all of my readers!

Free Book Promotion!

Please check out The Grandfather Tree on Amazon Kindle. It is a Chrildrens book I wrote for my Son. We are so excited that we can view it on the Kindle now! Please leave a review in exchange for the free book. Share it with as many people as you can! The promotion runs 6/26-6/30.

I have plans to eventually re-do the artwork. Proceeds from the book will be used to publish another version of it. That’s why I am asking you to review, share, and pass it around.

If you have Kindle Unlimited, it will be free for you regardless of the promotional special.

Thanks for your support and I look forward to reading your reviews.

If you havn’t already folkowed my facebook page, please do. Usually promotions and specials are posted on my facebook newsfeed, so you will be the first to know.

Read more about the Grandfather tree here:!/story.php?story_fbid=2196613310591260&id=1597360117183252&__tn__=%2As%2As-R

A clip of a reading of The Grandfather Tree:

The Importance of Story Creation and Early Literacy

Stories are the fabric that binds us all together. Your local library is the most important resource you can utilize and it is all available for free. All you have to do is sign up for a library card. I encourage you to have your children also fill out an application for a library card as well.

I was about five or six years old when I filled out an application for my first library. That is when I fell in love with books and I knew I wanted to be a writer.

I had no idea at that age so many worlds were available at my fingertips and that I could create worlds of my own. My first story I wrote was when I was six and in the first grade. I still have it! It was about a girl who ran away because her parents made her do chores. Of course if was chalk full of spelling errors, but that makes it even more special to me.

You see when your young you don’t care about what others think or what mistakes you may make.You just know you have this idea inside of you that you need to give birth to.

Later that year I began illustrating my own stories as well. The series I created an illustrated was called “The Adventures of the Valley River People.” My parents still have those drawings and stories somewhere. I also typed some of them up on a typewriter. That’s when I fell in love with the process of creation.

I created a whole world. A whole town of people. Some people lived in nursing homes and needed learning to adapt and use wheelchairs. Out of this, was born the ability to empathize with people and later led to a job as an Nursing Assistant as a career, later in my life. I had people that were all from different walks of life and nationalities in my story. One woman was from China and was a Buddhist. She wore beautiful Kimonos and became a princess. One man wrote spooky stories for a living and found a spooky story of his own! He found out the local school was haunted.

I still have ghosts that haunt me. Unfinished stories. They call out to me at night, needing to be written and told. The thing I fear most is that these stories will die with me. Death is perhaps a reminder of the importance of our stories. We have an obligation as writers, readers, as people with souls to tell our own.

I hope that someday when I am gone and six feet under, the stories I have written will outlast me. That they will inspire others and live on in the souls of those that they have touched.

My Son found me again writing his stories this morning when he woke up.

He said to me, “Mom when you die I will still have all these stories…my books,” and then he asked me to read him more. He threw his arms around me and said, “Mommy I love my stories. Please write me more.” That means the world to me.

When he filled out the application to get his own library card, I saw the same joy I felt at the moment when I got mine.

I told him, “You can go anywhere with this. This is your passport to new worlds of adventure.” Perhaps one day he will want to write a story of his own. He loves sharing his own stories with anyone that will listen…and to think that both of our journey’s started with a library card. Isn’t that something?

How Short Life Is

How short life is.jpg

It’s been awhile since I have been able to write. My worst fear was realized the night I wound up in the E.R. in excruciating pain, in a MRI scanner.

My skin felt as if it was on fire, I was having shortness of breath, and my body was swollen so much I was having trouble walking and moving. The MRI as it warmed up got hotter making my pain and skin so bad, that it looked like a sunburn. As I lay there just trying to get through it my first thoughts were about my family, trying to get through this and get better so I can be there for my family. The last place I wanted to be was in a hospital. I have spent enough time in the hospital over the years. First they thought this was neurological issue, then vestibular disorder, then finally I found out it was Rheumatoid Arthritis.

The pain was so bad I have not been able to write, type, play my violin, or guitar. My fingers have been still hurting, but I am hopeful now that I have started treatment. I am pushing through the pain to do what I love to keep my mind off of things. I have started to write once again and play violin, and guitar.

I don’t know why this happened, no one in my family has a history of this. My other thought when I was in that MRI was, I have so many more stories to tell, so many more memories to make with my loved ones. It was just a reminder to me of how short life is-  It is important do what we love, and spent time with the people we love. One day our hands won’t work. One day our lips won’t move. One day we will be still, and there will be silence where there was once hope.


Who knows heartache better than a Mother, as she sends you off to school. She knows its the beginning of you leaving her, trying to find your way into the world on your own.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, as she holds her sick child. As her child cries tears, she kisses away their fears.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, as she watches you lose someone you love. Pulling you close in an embrace, there need not be any words -you both cry together.

Oh this wise woman, knows the meaning of heartache, what it means to lose, but oh- what it means to love. Her heart ached many nights, for you.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother. She still waits up for you, worrying about you, even though you are grown and have children of your own now.

Who knows heartache better than a Mother, and who knows her love better than another. For it is her daughter, that always has a friend in her Mother. She now knows the same heartache, as her heart breaks for her own child- her only Son.

Impossible Child

My Son has been my greatest teacher. From the first flutters I felt, as he moved and then kicks -as he grew larger- kicking the my ribs. My Son, has taught me what it means to truly live.

These days, I am short on sleep. But those sleepless nights are well spent. I spend them with my son.

He was an Impossible child from the beginning. It was nothing short a miracle that he was born. Having PCOS, I would have some difficulty getting pregnant. My Husband and I got lucky with our Son.

I had a special connection with him from the beginning, I was 100 percent certain that I was going to have a boy. I had dreams about him before he was born. I was actually so certain, my Husband and I didn’t even pick out a girls name. We bought boys clothes and a teddy bear for him. The ultrasound confirmed my belief.

He was two weeks late, and I had to be induced. Yes, my Impossible Child.

When he was born, the umbilical cord was wrapped around his neck and he was blue, and when the nurses recesutated him, that cry was the most beautiful cry I had ever heard. Yes I was proud to call him my child.

I had no idea, that I was about to embark on the most wonderful adventure, becoming a Mother. I also didn’t know, that such a little person could be so smart, and know so many things about life.

To see the world through the eyes of a child. That has been the most wonderful thing my Son has taught me.

You see, children live in the moment. Day to Day. They have no fear. This works to their advantage. They explore create, and are exactly who they are meant to be. They live for, and in the moment. This is life’s greatest gift.

Noah has always loved Music and Dance and Art. He reminds me so much of myself its like looking into a mirror. Except life happened, and I forgot who I was. Through him I see the way I used to see the world. Through the eyes of a child.

Bright, vibrant, ready to be explored. Everything is beautiful. Everything is new and it is an experience.

So happy 5th birthday, my impossible child. Keep dancing like no ones watching, keep dreaming, keep on living. You are smart beyond your years. You of all people know that tomorrow is not promised to any of us. You remind me what it is to live, to be courageous and live in the moment without fear. Impossible child, life’s greatest teacher.





The Paradigm of the Typewriter

The typewriter on the shelf was a closeout deal. The office supply store was getting rid of old stock –and this old behemoth, no one wanted. It called out to the middle-aged, women. Choices must be made. An typewriter for 99 dollars and some change, (ink ribbons included) or that brand new laser jet ink package for a whopping 209 dollars –plus tax –something, a working mother and struggling writer, could little afford.

She was reminded where her love of writing began. When she was no more that five years of age, she began writing her stories. Her first written books were about the Valley River people. People that came from all walks of life. One woman that came from Japan and wore beautiful Kimonos, so everyone thought that she was a princess from a far off land. They couldn’t be more wrong.

Then there was a man, that lived in a nursing home because he had Parkinson’s disease. He had a wheelchair that allowed him more mobility because he was unable to walk steadily.

Of course there was the Valley River girl, from a far off land that wrote stories, had big dreams, and loved to illustrate all the books she wrote. That girl was me.

She held on, to all her notebooks and the first play she ever wrote. It was about a girl that would rather write than do her chores. She got mad and left home because she didn’t have enough time (or paper to write.)

She looked back at the old typewriter next to her desk and woke up in her bedroom, knowing that the typewriter that had been a closeout deal at the store was really all a dream.

Next to her desk, sat the typewriter she wrote all her first stories on. This was her Grandmother’s typewriter. The one that inspired, on which she cried over, because a lost dream had been realized each morning she woke up and saw it sitting next to her desk.

All that time she knew who she was. She had always been a writer.

‘Thirty years of age– that’s not a bad place to start,’ she thought.

–And so she promised herself after many failures, this year she would try and would succeed. That dream and her family –the sense of the community that the Valley River people had– was perhaps the only thing that truly mattered to her now, as much as it had when she was a little girl.

The paradigm of the typewriter had finally been realized.