The backstory.

I’ve been a storyteller all my life. Growing up they called me Mother Goose for the tales I would tell. Like any good fabler I’m sometimes prone towards exaggeration.

In 1997 I was supposed to go to a fancy liberal arts college to study communications but instead packed my bag and dropped a Dear John letter in the mailbox to the Dean of Admissions on my way out west to the mountains of Colorado with the idea that I needed more adventure and experiences.

This began the start of many shitty jobs that taught me invaluable life skills around the arts of persuasion, likability, influence, marketing, selling, and bullshitting—setting me on a path of telling stories to get people to buy things or telling my clients’ stories to get people to buy their things.

What jobs you might ask?

Ski lift operator, ballroom dance teacher, fire breathing bartender, newspaper classified ads salesperson, social media maven, public relations associate, corporate marketer, brand strategist, creative director, media publisher, thought leader, entrepreneur, founder.

You see, when you want something bad enough it’s like the scariest thing in the world. So instead of doing the one thing I really wanted to do (write!), I did that safely for other people instead—trading my creativity, brains, and words for paychecks since I was 18 years old.

I don’t regret any of these jobs or different lives I’ve lived as a bartender and business executive in New York City, an art student in Italy, a lost single thirty year old in Greece, a Kerouac reading bagel maker in Colorado or a girl from Upstate New York who wanted to see the world no matter how she got there.

Each misadventure was imperative to my writing once I finally mustered the guts to stop bullshitting.

I’m happy to report that at 44 years old I am no longer for sale and I am no longer selling.

No more bullshit.

It’s wild what happened once the distractions were put to the side. When I had no more excuses I could be free to create the work I’d always dreamed of creating. Since I said “no more” I created an award winning film, got a literary agent, had my second child, sold my first book, got married a second time, and have finally shed the capitalist version of me. Today I can say, truthfully (meaning I believe it myself!), I am a writer and an artist.

I am a happy and healthy, middle aged writer who’s lived ten lives to write about and now have a big beautiful life filled with two sons, a best friend for a husband, and a big furry Newfoundland pup named Kylian. We eat too much pizza, dance after dinner, and spend way too much of our time talking about sports.

The stories I tell today are mine, but the theme is usually the same—our modern world is a fucking hot mess (and I was quite literally a part of the problem.)

So now, my writing focuses on—exposing the bullshit.