The Short Version
I discovered my love for photography when I moved across the country on my own at 17 and found myself lost in the landscape of clouds, mountains, and desert known as Utah. I’ve since moved back to New England (despite the number of Stephen King books I’ve read), but still travel whenever I can. I’m an old soul, black-and-white movie lover, and a full-time daydreamer. I am forever inspired by people who are passionate about something. I’m a wannabe van-lifer, but not the down-by-the-river kind my dad always teases me about. I’m a longtime advocate of rolling the windows all the way down (even in the winter), and that good music somehow sounds even better when it’s a little louder. I could eat Mexican food every day and never, ever get sick of it, and I also enjoy (intentionally) funky cheeses, scenic walks, and buying books that I forget to read. It’s taken my whole life to figure out exactly what I want to do with my time here, but I have always loved stories; I think I was always meant to be a story teller.
The Significantly-Longer Version
It began with Egypt.
If you asked most kids want they want to be when they grow up, they’d probably say something like astronauts or veterinarians but I wanted to be an archeologist. (Or also someone who got to do cool exterior paint detail on cars and motorcycles.) I was totally fascinated with the first archeology image I ever saw, back in 1996(ish?) when The Valley of the Golden Mummies was first discovered. I could not believe the things that were found buried in the ground; how old they were, or how long they had been just under the surface of the earth, quietly waiting to be discovered.
This prompted my five-year-old(ish?) self to spend countless hours digging. In the sandbox, in the garden (sorry dad!), at the base of trees-anywhere something good might have been buried. (Unfortunately my backyard was never the treasure trove I’d hoped it was, and usually the only thing I ‘unearthed’ were ‘tootsie-rolls,’ as my mother called them, from the sandbox. These were a near-constant "gift" from the neighbor’s cat which always required a rigorous hand washing or bath upon discovery.)
In addition to realizing that statues of giants could have been sleeping just under my feet, these statues were representations of someone-someone royal, a deity; someone with a story. That’s where my love for mythology began. My father told me of Anubis and Horus and Perseus and Medusa and they were better than any stories I’d ever heard. (Sorry 'Toad On the Road .') My love for mythology spread from one ancient world to the next, spanning the globe and as far back into written history as I could go. That’s when I decided I would become a writer.
I tried to warn you by the title, but this is the significantly longer version. If you're enjoying the read, you can finish it on the blog, here .
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