My father was a poet and I grew up on meter and rhyme. Once, when I was in elementary school, I wrote a story about a wolf. My father praised me for the phrase “slippery sharp” which I had used to describe the wolf’s teeth. A child has never been prouder than I was that day. Decades, indeed a lifetime later, and I have not trumped that literary accomplishment until now. Finally, I have found my calling and my voice. My father has been dead a long time, but I am sure that he would be pleased to see the art that he valued so highly reflected in me.
In these virtual pages, I include some of my writing, both poetry and prose, completed and works in progress. My writing is quite dark at times as I explore my childhood and those times when things have been a challenge. But, perhaps as comic relief, my children’s poetry is light and cheerful as I draw heavily on my experiences as a mother.