I have worked long and hard to set up this website, learning far more about web development than I ever anticipated. I created my first blog sites 8-10 years ago, when block formatting didn’t exist and we had direct access to CSS (I could at least change background colors). The learning curve has been steep. I started this project in June, set it aside after devoting over 40 hours to it, then returned to it in December. Several more weeks went by as I worked on this site, experimented with another platform, and finally settled here. I’m glad to be done and glad you’re here.
Why Stories Matter
Stories are how we learn who we are, who we’re supposed to be, and—most importantly—the secret possibilities of what we could become, way beyond those first two options.
If it can be dreamed, we can see it in ourselves.
I expected to be a girl who married and got stuck—either with a front yard full of farm machinery, in a fancy loft catering to a man’s whims, or in some other small and confined life. But reading Anne McCaffrey’s heroines showed me an alternative. It’s been decades since i read or thought about those books, but looking back now, I can recognize what happened. I see that I modeled my life—my idea of what a competent, strong woman could be—on her characters without ever consciously deciding to do so. Those fictional women became the template I measured myself against, shaped the questions I asked about my own capabilities, and quietly gave me permission to attempt things I’d never seen a real woman do.
That’s what stories do. They show us versions of ourselves we didn’t know were possible. They give us permission to imagine beyond what we’re told we should want. A kid reading about someone who asks hard questions learns they can ask hard questions. Someone reading about survival after impossible loss learns survival is possible.
Stories matter because they’re evidence. Evidence that someone else has been there. Evidence that we’re not alone in whatever impossible situation we’re facing. Evidence that there are more ways to be human than the ones immediately visible in our own lives.
I write for the kid who needs to see something different than what’s in front of them. For the adult navigating complexity without a map. For anyone who’s been told their life should be smaller than it is.
Life is complicated. Stories should match that complexity, not pretend it away.
So here’s what I offer: stories that assume you’re capable of handling the truth. Stories that trust people, even children, to think deeply. Stories that don’t pretend the world is simple or that transformation comes easy. Because somewhere out there, someone needs to know that adventures like catching crocodiles or hiking with heart failure or rebuilding after years of brain fog is possible—not because I’m special, but because I’m just a person who read the right stories at the right time.
Welcome. I’m glad you’re here.