I grew up in a house with lots of bookshelves and creative projects in the works at all times. My parents read, between them, things from nearly every category of fiction and non-fiction. My love of reading got an early and well-supported start.

My father's painting easel held a permanent place in one corner of the dining room, his drawing table in another. My mother taught me to sew and knit. My father gave me lessons at our upright piano. The basement held a workbench and his beer-brewing operation. I was blessed with a growing-up full of curiousity and creative exploration.     

One day my mother took a story I had written to my fifth grade teacher, to get her opinion about my merits as a writer. The teacher noted the influence of the Nancy Drew books I had read (by that time, probably all of them), but also said that I was, indeed, a very good writer. My mother, my first champion,  used this to encourage me to persevere. Thanks, Mom.

When I was twelve I bought my first camera. It was a square, gray plastic Kodak that cost all of eight dollars, and it was my initiation to a lifelong love of photography. More cameras followed, both film and eventually digital. I still have my first SLR film camera. Can't quite bear to part with it.

Fast forward: A bachelor’s degree in Art, and then several years spent working in offices, with creativity on the side. The classic liberal arts education story.

Through the decades that followed -  an assortment of jobs, relationships and then motherhood - writing and photography continued to be my creative companions, sometimes publicly, always privately.

In 2008, I wrote what became the fall cover story for Edible Portland Magazine. That was a pivotal moment: I had become uncertain about myself as a writer, and getting this recognition propelled me with both feet into writing. While turning my attention more thoroughly to the page, I still continued to take photographs, sometimes as a daily practice.

Submitting, getting rejections and the occasional acceptance. Repeat.

Now, with a completed novel manuscript I am trying to find a place for, out in the world, a collection of short stories beginning to coalesce, a grateful return to poetry, my eyes and ears are still on the watch for stories, for fleeting moments of connection that continue to beautifully weave the world together.

It is good here.