As a child, I journaled daily. If you were to drive to my parents’ house and request to see a sample of my earliest writing, my mother would undoubtedly chuckle and drag out a plastic bin, filled with school certificates and artwork and baby trinkets — as well as a bundle of diaries covered in ponies and Disney princesses, with tiny silver locks and thin miniature keys. This affection, this love affair with words — this affliction? — drove me to write often and prolifically.
While this maniacal obsession took on a life of its own, so did my hunger for reading. There truly is no other way to describe my relationship with books; I’m a ravenous, insatiable, predatory reader. Right now — in this moment that I write my “About” page — I own 410 glorious novels, many of which are of the classical persuasion. Bookstores are — much to my husband’s chagrin — my kryptonite.
Thus, without further ado, I invite you to peruse the ramblings this website contains, categorized by book reviews/recommendations and anecdotal tidbits from my daily life as a wife and first-time mother.