I started writing when I was eight years old in an effort to emulate my grandfather – my idol – who wrote, painted, sculpted and sketched. After many crumpled papers and poor attempts at painting, I typed a story on his typewriter (a legit typewriter, the kind where your papers are blotchy with White Out). Prose poured from my fingers. I was born.
Photography was an accident. As a reporter for a small-budget daily newspaper, I was required to take pictures for my articles. I fell in love snapping shots, telling the stories of people through their postures, faces, gestures. I was quickly made a secondary photographer, sent on assignments for events and other reporters’ stories along with my own. I’ve since continued taking pictures for assigned stories, community events and portraits (as well as Instagram because Modern Age provides creative outlets).
I contain myriad tales and identities. I’m a writer, photographer, daughter and wife. I’m the mother of a tween (yikes!) and a cat owner. A loyal friend. A Seattleite. A staunch feminist woman. A hiker, kayaker, dancer and rock climber. Sometimes, I don’t sleep well with thoughts churning project ideas, to-do lists and rewinding TV episodes. I feel most alive when immersing myself in a story, laughing with friends, dancing, being outside and sharing popcorn with my husband and daughter during family movie nights.