I don’t ever remember a time in my life where I wasn’t in love with other people’s stories. Described as a perpetually nosey child with a quirky penchant for Hollywood gossip, I devoured my grandmother’s tabloids and my mother’s Vanity Fairs as soon as I could read. A girl who knew “everything about everyone” all of the time. Especially my beloved teachers who treated me more like a confidante than a student. One of them, handing down her entire collection of royal magazines from Britain to me as a kindergarten graduation gift when I was six.
In college I fell in love with short fiction. I wrote tales of young waitresses chasing all the wrong dreams, and disillusioned California girls with undecided fates. Reflections of myself at that age I suppose. For awhile there I briefly entertained the idea of writing fiction for a living but ultimately decided on a more practical option: a teaching career. A plan that was put on hold once I found out I was pregnant with our first son shortly after entering the credential program.
Over the past decade I’ve managed to make a living from home, on the internet telling stories in various forms, to varying degrees. First, with a family blog I started back in 2011 as a creative outlet to document life as a new mom. And more recently, with pop culture deep dives unfolded in Instagram story slides. Putting to use all those years I spent dissecting celebrity biographies, and juicy magazine fodder.
Storytelling is offering me new fulfillment these days, at a point where I had just about given up on forging connections through my writing. As communication online seemed to be consistently shrinking.
In an era of growing censorship and distrust in paid media designed to divide and distract us, I hoped this space offers anyone looking for anything else, refreshing respite.
Expect the return of unhinged humor, biting sarcasm, and people talking like real people again. Unguarded and uncut.
