People often ask when I became a writer...

 

Where It All Began

People often ask when I became a writer.

The truth is, I don't remember deciding to become one.

When I learned how letters formed words and words formed sentences, a whole new world was opened to me and I haven't stopped reading.

Growing up, there was a willow tree in our front yard. My grandfather had planted it from a single branch, when he was first married and over the years it grew into something enormous and magical. Its long branches draped toward the ground like a curtain, creating a world all its own.

I spent countless hours beneath that tree and swinging from its limbs. Every year, my family would watch the Founders Day parade from the front porch while the willow cast its cool shadow over us.

Looking back, it's no surprise that one of my first stories featured a magical willow tree.

As a teenager, I discovered fantasy through a book that changed everything for me: The Sword of Shannara by Terry Brooks. I can still remember the feeling of opening those pages and realizing there were entire worlds waiting to be explored. It wasn't just the adventure that captivated me. It was the possibility. The idea that words could build places, people, and journeys that felt completely real.

At the time, I was working in a laundry facility. Between shifts and everyday responsibilities, I would scribble ideas whenever I could. I had no grand publishing dreams. I wasn't building a career plan.

I was simply writing because I loved it AND I had to get the story out of my brain!

Years later, I still feel connected to that younger version of myself. The one sitting beneath a willow tree. The one writing stories during lunch breaks and after work because she couldn't imagine not writing them.

Seventeen stories later, a lot has changed.

The genres have changed. My craft has grown. I've learned things about publishing, deadlines, revisions, and the business side of books that I never could have imagined back then.

I'm still chasing that feeling I discovered beneath the willow tree. That sense of wonder. That spark that asks, "What if?"

The stories may be different now, but they're all rooted in the same place.

*A tree planted by my grandfather.

*A fantasy novel that opened a door.

*And a young writer who couldn't stop imagining what might happen next.

Are you a writer? A reader? BOTH? 

Tell me something about you! A favorite book or author or what you're writing now. 

(I took this image off the internet. As soon as I find my own picture, I'll replace it).

Strawberry Days, High School Sweethearts, and Small-Town Life Part 3

It’s no surprise that pieces of Strawberry Days eventually found their way into Juniper Valley. Not as a direct copy, but as a feeling.

Strawberry Days builds up anticipation, kicks off the summer and is part of a long tradition. It’s also bonding, like for that one special week, everyone in town is sharing the same experience.

When I write small-town romance, I’m trying to capture the things I loved most about growing up in a small town. There’s the community, the familiarity and the friendships that span decades (I’ve known my friend since we were in the same kindergarten class).

I remember my first crush. 6th grade. I sent him a secret Valentine, which he found and asked if I wanted to hold hands. He watched me jump rope at recess and I watched him play basketball.

There were ones that got away that I was totally oblivious to their attention. A wrestler from a neighboring high school insisted on calling me ‘Snickers’ or ‘licorice’ instead of my name, Taffy. I didn’t get that he was flirting.

I fell for baseball player when I called the games during the summer.

The neighbor who was a year younger made me promise that if we weren’t married by the time he was twenty, we would marry and raise horses.

So while Juniper Valley exists only on the page (and in my heart), its roots run deep. In the mountain views, summer festivals, lifelong friendships, and the kind of community where everyone knows your name... and probably your crush, too.

Sometimes that’s exactly what makes a small town feel like home. 🍓

Where did you meet your significant other?

Strawberry Days, High School Sweethearts, and Small-Town Life Small-Town Inspiration: Pleasant Grove, Utah

 One of the towns big events and local favorite is Strawberry Days.

If you’ve never experienced Strawberry Days, imagine a town-wide celebration where everyone goes to at least three events, volunteers for two of them and is most likely in the parade.

AND you can enjoy strawberries and cream everywhere, especially at: the parade, rodeo, carnival, concerts, games.

The festival inspired many of the community celebrations you’ll find in Juniper Valley. Not because I copied it directly, but because I wanted to capture that feeling of a town coming together and showing up because it’s simply what you do.

That’s one of the things I love most about small towns.

What do YOU love about where you grew up?

Strawberry Days, High School Sweethearts, and Small-Town Life ––Small-Town Inspiration: Pleasant Grove, Utah

 People often ask where I get my inspiration for the small-town feel in my books.

While Juniper Valley is fictional, many of its heartbeats come from real places. One of those places is the town where we raised our kids: Pleasant Grove, Utah.

A place where privacy is mostly a myth. Not because people are nosy (okay, sometimes because people are nosy).

But mostly because everyone knows everyone. Your mom knows your teacher. Your teacher knows your grandparents. Your grandparents were the grand marshalls in the Strawberry Days Parade.

It’s hard to reinvent yourself in a small town because there is always someone around who remembers when you permed your hair and the vice principal called you a poodle.

Not that I’m speaking from experience…

Growing up in a small town means growing up alongside the same people year after year. We sat together in classrooms, played on the same sports teams, attended the same church activities, and showed up at the same community events.

By high school, everyone knew everyone else’s siblings, cousins, and embarrassing stories. Despite knowing far too much about each other, people still fell in love.

They married their high school sweethearts, left for college, missions, jobs, or adventures and then eventually found their way back home.

Because small towns have a strange gravitational pull.

You spend your teenage years convinced you’ll escape forever.

Then one day you find yourself driving past familiar streets thinking, “Maybe staying wasn’t such a bad idea after all.”

Where did you grow up?

Small-Town Crushes and Other Humiliations Part 3

 Writers are collectors of moments. We gather little snapshots from our lives and tuck them away for later. A conversation here. A smile there. A humiliating hand-holding incident that follows you for decades.

Then one day, those memories show up in a book.

Maybe that’s why small-town romances feel so real to me. They’re built from real moments.

*The crush everyone knew about before you admitted it.

*The late night truck rides in the summer.

*The shy, cute boys who take their sweet time.

*The awkward girls (ME).

All the stories that seem embarrassing at seventeen but become treasured memories years later.

Although if either of those boys ever reads this and remembers the hand-holding incident...

I’d appreciate it if we all agreed to forget it happened.

What memory came up as you read this story?

(Actual picture from my high school days!)

Small-Town Crushes and Other Humiliations Part 2

 A normal person might have accepted this obvious gift from the universe.

In what remains one of the most awkward moments of my teenage years, I suggested that all three of us hold hands.

All three.

I still cringe thinking about it.

To this day, I have no idea what possessed me to say that. Panic, probably. My brain saw romance approaching and immediately pulled the emergency brake.

Needless to say, it did not have the smooth, swoony effect I was hoping for.

The older I get, the more I realize that those awkward moments are exactly why I write small-town romance.

Real crushes aren’t polished. They’re sweaty palms and nervous laughter. They’re saying the wrong thing at exactly the wrong moment.

They’re accidentally making a situation ten times more embarrassing because you’re trying so hard not to be embarrassed.

It’s those the memories that stick with us.

The sweet, quiet country boy from that truck ride may never know it, but pieces of him will probably live forever in my stories. Not exactly as he was, of course. Characters have a way of borrowing traits from a dozen different people before becoming someone entirely new.

The same goes for the friend sitting on the other side of me.

(Part 3 next week!)

Please tell me I’m not the only one with embarrassing and innocent memories! Please share!

Small-Town Crushes and Other Humiliations Part 1

 One of the reasons I love writing small-town romance is because small towns don’t let you forget your crushes.

Ever.

I was reminded of that recently while thinking about high school and some of the stories that eventually find their way into my books.

One memory stands out.

It was my senior year. I was squeezed into the front seat of a pickup truck between two country boys who were a year or two younger than me. (If you grew up in a small town, you already know exactly what kind of truck I’m talking about). Dust on the floorboards. Country music on the radio. The kind of vehicle that had probably seen more dirt roads than paved ones.

I had a crush on one of them.

Naturally, I thought I was hiding it brilliantly.

I was not.

At some point, he figured it out. Maybe someone told him. Maybe I turned bright red every time he talked to me. Whatever happened, he knew.

And I was mortified.

The funny thing is that he was probably one of the sweetest boys I’ve ever known. Quiet. Kind. The type who listened more than he talked. Looking back, I realize I always had a weakness for the quiet ones.

In fact, I eventually married one.

But at seventeen, all I knew was that my crush knew I liked him, and I wanted the earth to swallow me whole.

Then he tried to hold my hand.

(Cliffhanger, I know! Hopefully you'll be back for the next installation!).