How I Became a Writer
I became a writer long before I ever said the word out loud. As a child, I was constantly accused of being “lost in space,” but really, I was living in the worlds I built inside my head. I spent entire afternoons wandering through imagined forests, inventing creatures, and playing out stories no one else could see. I’ve always loved storytelling in all its forms—musical theatre, books, films, drawing—anything that let me slip into another world or shape one of my own.
Deep down, I think I always knew I had stories inside me. I wrote short stories and poems, sketched characters, and dreamed up entire worlds, but I kept most of it tucked away. Sharing felt too vulnerable, too exposing. Then one day, I learned that a friend of mine was writing a book—the same friend who would later inspire me to become an editor. What can I say? I owe a lot to this friend. I admired her bravery, the way she put her work into the world even after receiving some painfully harsh editorial feedback. At the time, I was already writing small stories for my own children, but her courage nudged something in me. If she could be brave enough to share her stories, maybe I could too.
Still, I hesitated to call myself a writer. The word felt too big, too official, like a title I hadn’t earned. Then one day, while talking to an acquaintance in a coffee shop, I mentioned that I didn’t just edit—I also wrote. I laughed and said something like, “Well, I don’t know if I can call myself a writer…” She looked at me and said, simply, “Well, do you write? Then you are a writer.” Something in me settled at those words. It was the permission I didn’t know I’d been waiting for.
Writing gives me a kind of satisfaction nothing else does: the quiet joy of shaping a world, the comfort of exploring themes that matter to me, the thrill of creating something that feels true. It helps me process, understand, and make sense of things. There’s a quiet magic in building something from nothing, in watching a story take shape where there was once only a feeling or a question.
I had a difficult, complicated childhood, and as a teacher, parent, and writer, I’m always thinking about the children who feel unseen or misunderstood. I want my stories to be a place where they can feel safe, recognized, and less alone. My inner “lost in space” child still loves finding magic in nature and in the small, ordinary corners of the world, and that wonder shapes the stories I write. I want to create spaces where quiet courage matters, where belonging is possible, and where even the softest characters can be brave.
I’m still becoming a writer, and maybe I always will be. But stories connect us, and I’m grateful to be learning how to tell mine.
