Spinning Yarns, Making Mayhem, and Finding My Happy Place

I don’t believe in “callings.” Let’s be honest: for most of us, making a living means doing something just for the money—especially when we’re young. I’ve had good jobs throughout my career, but I’ve also had jobs that were the professional equivalent of waterboarding. Pure torture.

Writing, though? That’s never been torture. Spinning yarns on the page, listening to the voices in my head, and jotting down what they say—that’s my happy place.

It took me a long time to get here. Twenty years, in fact. Across those two decades, I wrote stories but didn’t let anyone read them. My dad read one. My sister read part of one. But mostly, those words stayed locked away in notebooks and files.

Then one day, a close friend—we’ll call her AMC—dragged me out of my writer’s closet. She begged, cajoled, and nagged until I finally handed her one of my stories. Then another. And another. Her encouragement planted the idea that maybe, just maybe, I should try to publish.

I resisted, of course. But the voices in my head wouldn’t quit. And neither would she.

The Truth About My Writing Process

I’m not a Master of Fine Arts graduate. You won’t find me comparing myself to Agatha Christie or Arthur Conan Doyle. My writing is unpretentious, and I’m the first to admit that I’m no literary genius. I do this because I love it, because it’s fun, and because there’s something deeply satisfying about building story worlds and watching my characters navigate their messy, everyday lives—and then throwing a wrench (or ten) into their plans.

My process is anything but polished. I write on stenopads with ink, scribble in the Notes app on my iPad with an Apple pen, and type frantically into Word whenever inspiration strikes. Ideas hit me at the oddest times—in the shower, late at night, or while tending the cows and horses. I’m what the writing world calls a “pantser”: I fly by the seat of my pants, spinning scenes when the mood strikes.

The first step is always to get it out of my head and onto the page. Most of the time, it’s a chaotic mess of shorthand, bad grammar, and half-finished ideas. But that’s okay. It’s a start. When I have time, I type up the notes from my growing stack of stenopads.

From Happy Hearts to Mayhem

When I first started writing seriously, I thought I’d be crafting happy-hearts-roses-and-romance stories. But once I put pen to paper, I found something darker lurking in my soul: crime, mayhem, terror in a small town. All the wicked things people hope don’t exist.

I gave in. I let the crime and mayhem unfold. And let me tell you—it’s fascinating stuff.

The Journey to Now

It wasn’t until after my mom passed in the early 2000s that I really leaned into writing. She was my biggest supporter, always encouraging me to try and promising to read every word I put on the page. After she died, I started writing with a vengeance. Sadly, she never got to read any of it, but her belief in me planted the seed for this journey.

I’ve since learned that writing isn’t just about crafting stories; it’s about constantly improving. I’m working with a professional editor to make my books more polished and readable. I’m also learning the business side of publishing—a whole new challenge in itself.

But through it all, one thing remains true: this is all I’ve ever wanted to do. So here I am, giving it the ol’ schoolgirl try.

Why I Write

I write because it’s my happy place. Because the voices in my head are too loud to ignore. Because I love building worlds and weaving stories that balance everyday life with chaos and calamity.

And while I may never be the kind of writer critics or librarians rave about, I’m okay with that. I’m not full of myself, and I’m not here to impress anyone. I’m here because writing is fun. Because I love it. And because after twenty years of keeping my stories to myself, it’s time to let them out into the world.

If you’re reading this, thanks for being part of the journey. Let’s see where it goes.