I am a lover of all things beautiful and sweet, sickly-sweet things like: cotton candy, merry-go-rounds and apple orchards. When I come across something new and brilliant I want nothing more than to share it and so, I write. I began when I was a moony-eyed, 10-year-old child, in love with the idea of falling in love. At that time, my heart belonged to Tuxedo Mask, and was torn between Donatello and Raphael (yes the Ninja Turtles). My poetry was scattered with stories of mermaids and dashing rogues. That was before I realized how terrifying true love could be, where your heart is open and vulnerable, where you spend one night praying that your crush will notice you and the very next praying that they will just leave you alone. Yes, I confess, I did not have my first kiss until I was nearly eighteen and I botched it terribly when I broke up with the boy the very next day. I liked the idea of love even as I found the reality overwhelming.
There were times when I have felt very small, that everyone around me had learned to move with the worlds determined spin while I was tossed to my knees, my head in a tizzy. I have fought desperately to keep it still. I couldn’t. But, as I learned to find my balance I kept a record, writing about my progress, foolishness and failures, turning it into fiction so that maybe, just maybe, it might be easier for someone else.
As I’ve sorted out the strange and often frightening parts of becoming a grown-up, I have become more grateful to the people in my life who inspire me to look for what is good. Now, as a mother and wife, with a tidy little home of my own, I can see that there has always been more beauty in the world than darkness, so long as I look for it.
I have found my love story after all. Perhaps that is why I write, so that you, my friends, can continue daydreaming, wishing and hoping, as you struggle back onto your feet.
Our youth is an adventure, love is the greatest of all,