Like, exchange your shoes for wool socks, put on a sweater, get some coffee and chill.
Before you get too cozy, here’s an abbreviated intro:
I grew up in South Dakota, and I grew up hearing stories.
My mom’s good at it, my grandpa is good at it, my cousin Kelsey can turn anything into an event of epic proportions, and the list continues. I guess it’s what you do when you grow up in a place as rural as SoDak.
For me, storytelling often starts on paper.
When I write, I crawl into this crooked nook that’s overflowing with words to choose from. I find not just the time and space to breathe, but a way to inhale and exhale–to learn, to process–with greater depth, greater sincerity and greater creativity.
In short, it grounds me–even when the ground I’m on is thousands of miles from my Great Plains upbringing.
When I blog, I force myself to press share instead of tucking these stories away in never-to-be read files.
I invite you to browse my collection of stories, to comment, share and follow.
I’m continuing a tradition and I’d love for you to be a part of it.