When I was a kid, I was painfully shy. I’ve mostly outgrown it, but I still hate talking about myself, so this is one of the hardest things I’ve ever written. I went to college to be a photographer, and visual arts is my first love. Growing up with dyslexia, I loved stories but struggled with reading and writing. Getting picked to read in class was worse than having to talk about myself. Truly the stuff of nightmares. 

I’m a lover of all things romance. The first time I felt the spark was watching the 1995 Pride and Prejudice with my mom. I’ve watched it more times than I can count. But romance is an itch that can only really be scratched with books, and reading greatly improved my dyslexia. Over time, reading led to wanting to tell my own stories. So here we are, with a head full of stories, a phone full of pictures and story notes, and a lap full of a cat-hating dog, a dog-loving cat, and a cuddle-monster cat who hates both of them. And if these three can create a nightly bone-crushing cuddle pile on me, then anything’s possible. 

Traveling to wild places that also have public toilets and gift shops is my idea of a good time. I can often be found taking far too many photographs, coming up with excuses not to clean, and feeding all the cats in the neighborhood.