Why do I write? Good question.
It’s not because it’s been a passion ever since second grade when Sister Ann Michael praised my poem I WANT TO BE A DOG for its wit, rhyme, and wild imagination, or the inclusion of several heart-wrenching poems about ‘first love’ triumphs and heart breaks in my high school literary magazine, or that I even love to write—I wield my pen because I cannot escape the characters rambling in my head demanding their stories be told.
I write because I like words, odd words, like Continue reading


Our angel is weary.
It is finally time for me to toot a dear friend’s horn today. I am honoured, happy, and proud to share with you the début of a book that has changed my life.


It’s somehow fitting.







