I’ve been a lover of words all my life.  Seriously.  Reading and writing have been a part of my life for as long as I can remember.  One of my mother’s favorite stories about me was how I would fight with my father over who should get the Reader’s Digest first when it was delivered.  As a wee girl of 6, I had a strong grasp on language and the way it could be used to convey messages, feelings and events.  My mother fostered this passion by bringing me to the library so I could get my very own library card.  When I think of that day, I feel the same rush of emotions that I did when the librarian answered my question of how many books I could check out with, “as many as you can read.”  With eyes wide and an open summer before me, I filled my little arms with as many books as I could carry.

As a young adult, my relationship with the written word morphed from one of starry-eyed curiosity to lackluster high school and under-grad requirements to the intensity of a post-grad love affair with the onion-skinned pages of the Norton Anthologies of English and American Literature.  Today, I have no fewer than four books on my nightstand at a time.

Since my humble beginnings as a slight girl with a brawny imagination, I’ve written loads of papers–some better than others and some f**ing amazing.  I’ve toyed with MySpace posts and Twitter tweets and facebook Notes.  I’ve been given credit as a contributor to a best selling book.  I’ve even written a novel.  And now…?

Now I’m here.  The same wide-eyed girl who is now a wide-eyed adult–with a requisite laugh line or two–armed with a passion for words and a plethora of things to write about.

Let’s get the party started.