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I was born on a very cold, very snowy February morning in Sweden some years ago. I looked at my mom, asked for a pencil, and the rest is history.

No, not quite. While a voracious reader from a young age, I did not start putting my own stories in writing until I had children of my own. At that point, the words wanted out, so I let them.

When I don't write, I can typically be found either doing something else creative - perhaps with watercolor and ink, or pallet boards and nails - or raising two humans.

Happy face: Fireflies, playing piano at midnight, Cadbury eggs

Sad face: Bigotry, kids doing magic poorly, cherry-flavored meds