I had a long, drawn out intro written in my head, but I scrapped it.

It was boring, self-indulgent, and unoriginal.

Look, here’s the sound-bite version:

I used to be a writer. Then I went to graduate school.  The writer inside of me died, and I successfully graduated with a PhD in English.  That was almost ten years ago. 

Over this past summer, I woke up one morning, sat at my keyboard, and wrote a word.  Then a sentence.  Then a chapter.  Then several chapters.  Then a book.

The writer inside slowly gathered her bones, stood up, and shook the cobwebs out of her hair.  I was afraid she was dead for good, but she wasn’t.  Now she’s resurrected and out for revenge.  She’s not in this for shits and giggles; she’s in this for keeps.

So now, to appease her, I’m embarking on a second career as a novelist.  Chicago, my hometown, is my muse.

Living.  Writing.  Listening.  Hoping you enjoy this journey as much as I do.


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