I have been a writer since I was four years old. My first known story was about a letter E. It was soon followed by several other similarly penned tales about characters with names like “Cookie Face” and “Big i’s.” Needless to say, I have never been famous for my fiction.

At the age of ten, I began writing poetry. That went a little better. I have written hundreds of poems, and even published a few in real, actual books. I have also written various articles, study guides for novels, a variety of product reviews, and I worked for four years as a theatre critic for a local newspaper. I wrote a novel once, or at least a crappy first draft. I have worked as an editor, written liturgy for my spiritual community, and of course, I have written dozens and dozens of lesson plans.

Writing is in my blood. My mother is a writer who had a fiction piece published in a national magazine as a teen. That was pretty much the end of her professional career, but she never stopped writing.

Even when I have had to stop writing creatively because other things because priorities shifted or writer’s block took over, I continue to write. More lesson plans. Lists. Facebook posts. The (very) occasional blog post.

Now I’m teaching poetry, and I hope that will lead to a bit more writing. Maybe I can incorporate it into my journaling. Whatever happens, I know it’s there, waiting for me to return. Thank you for being here whenever it does.

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