I don’t remember a time in my life when I didn’t consider myself a writer.

A few decades spanned with careers in television and parenting and yoga managed to simultaneously distract me from and inform my writing, but the knowing in my bones that I am a writer never left.

It’s taken me a bit to muster up the courage to face myself on the page. Writing is a lot like yoga that way. A blank page and a yoga mat offer similar challenges–show the hell up, warts and all. Show the hell up, be it on your mat or on the page and soften and breathe into what is hard to see and difficult to feel. Although I have a rich and active inner life, most of my stories are not meant to be fantasies within which to hide, but rather stories that crack open the door, expose the blood and shine a little light on the good, bad and ugly.

I am a writer. A yogi. A mom. A lover of music and energy–explosive, expressive energy, be it punk rock, dance, drag racing or drag queens. When I’m not teaching yoga or staring at a blank page, you might find me flinging balls and sticks with my rascally pup, Bear. Or perhaps hanging out in seedy little clubs listening to loud music into the wee hours.

Thanks for visiting, reading, sharing and commenting.

(Oh yeah, and come to yoga. It will do you a world of good. Promise.)