For as long as I can remember, I’ve loved all things alphabetic. In fact, one of my earliest childhood memories is sitting cross-legged on the rug in Kindergarten as we learned a different letter each week. On Friday we brought snacks that started with that week’s letter, and while most kids pulled out clumsily cut PB&J sandwiches, my mom always seemed to be an overachiever. “F” week was particularly memorable–filberts (another name for hazelnuts, apparently)–except that I got to school and simply couldn’t remember what the heck the nuts were called. Clearly I am showing my age because those were days when Kindergartners were actually taught the alphabet and not algebra, and nuts had not yet been banned.
My fascination with all things ABC has followed me into adulthood. From mugs to books, clothes to crafts, the charm of anything with an alphabet motif makes me swoon and has separated me, an ardent tightwad, from many a dollar. The alphabet is to the Brontes as paint is to Michelangelo and butter to Paula Dean. Truly, what could be more magical than arranging twenty consonants and six vowels into patterns that form words, sentences, and stories?
To write one’s stories, the small and simple things that evidence life, is to cheat death.
Learning to write these stories well and inspiring others to do the same is my passion.