Once upon a time, a five-foot-nothing girl dared to dream of becoming a fighter pilot. The men in her life laughed at the notion. Too small, too fragile, too female. So, she became a nurse instead—a role stitched together with compassion and steel.

Three decades later, she's still a nurse, still stitching lives back together, and still navigating her own uncharted skies. The thing about dreams is they never really die. They smolder, waiting for a spark.

For me, that spark was writing.

As a restless teen, I scribbled twisted short stories in class to escape boredom. They never went anywhere, just words scrawled in notebooks and forgotten. As an adult, I dabbled in arts and crafts, but nothing scratched the itch. It wasn't until my kids came along that my creativity shifted from glue guns and glitter to something darker—something truer.

The laptop became my battleground, my playground, my cockpit. The words spilled out, jagged and raw, and an author was born. Writing isn’t just a hobby—it’s the wildest ride yet. It took years to get here, but every detour, every doubt, every dark twist in the road was worth it.