Where it All Began

I have always loved books. I loved the feeling of getting lost in a story, of being transported somewhere else for a while, and of imagining what might exist just beyond the pages. I also loved writing. Even as a child, stories seemed to come naturally to me.

When I was nine years old, my fifth-grade teacher asked our class to write journal entries about a particular topic. I wanted to write, but I didn’t want to write about that.

So I asked if I could write about something else.

Instead of seeing a child who was simply refusing to do the assignment, my teacher saw an opportunity. She told me I could write about whatever I wanted, as long as I was willing to stand in front of the class and read it aloud.

So I wrote a story about an alligator.

Something happened when I read it to my class. They connected with it. They wanted more. And my teacher recognized something in me that I was still too young to understand for myself.

She began arranging for me to visit other classrooms, where a student assistant would act out my stories while I read them. I was nine years old, walking into classrooms and sharing stories I had written.

Then my teacher told me something I have carried with me ever since. She said she just knew that one day she would be walking down the streets of Greenwich Village, look into a bookstore window, and see me inside reading my books to children.

I’m still working on that part.

For a long time, though, I wasn't writing.

Or at least, I wasn't putting the stories down on paper. I think there was always a storyteller living somewhere inside me, but life has a way of making us set parts of ourselves aside. Sometimes the things we love can become complicated, and sometimes finding our way back to them takes years.

For me, finding my way back to writing has been deeply personal.

After losing my mother unexpectedly in 2022, I began creating Bub & Friends as a work of love. What started with stories inspired by my dog, Copper, became something much bigger: a way to create again, to imagine again, and to reconnect with a part of myself that had been waiting a very long time to be heard.

At the heart of my writing is a belief that children deserve to be truly seen.

Their questions matter. Their imaginations matter. Their tenderness matters. Their unusual ideas, their big feelings, their curiosity about the world—all of it matters.

I believe that when we give children the freedom and encouragement to explore who they are, we help them grow into adults who are able to remain curious, compassionate, creative, and connected to the world around them.

And I believe the child we once were doesn't simply disappear when we grow up.

There is still an inner child in all of us who wants to wonder, explore, imagine, and be understood. I want my stories to speak to that part of people, too—to the child holding the book and to the grown-up reading beside them.

Nature, animals, friendship, curiosity, kindness, and connection are woven into everything I write. I want my stories to be places where children can see themselves, discover something new, and feel a little more permission to be exactly who they are.

And maybe, along the way, I can remind the adults reading with them of something they already knew when they were children:

That wonder is worth protecting.

That imagination is worth nurturing.

And that sometimes, all it takes is one person willing to say, “Tell me what you want to write about.”

My fifth-grade teacher gave me that chance when I was nine.

More than thirty years later, I’m finally writing the stories again.

And I’m still working on that bookstore window in Greenwich Village.