The Flashlight Era

Picture me at seven: I am officially “asleep,” which is 1970s-speak for “hiding under a floral duvet with a flashlight and a Judy Blume novel.” I didn’t just read those stories; I lived in them. I felt a kinship with every outcast and underdog on the page. By day, I was already a writer, churning out high-stakes epics about lonely girls and the runaway horses who saved them. I didn’t know then that “writing what you know” usually starts with dreaming about what you don’t have yet.

The Viewfinder Years

By sixteen, I had traded the flashlight for a Pentax ME. The camera was my social shield and my passport; it turns out people are a lot less intimidating when you’re looking at them through a fixed 50mm lens. I was my high school’s visual storyteller, chasing that one perfect frame that could make a stranger smile or tell a story without saying a word.

The Hollywood Reality Check

At twenty-two, I took my USC Cinema-TV degree and my “as big as the Hollywood sign” dreams straight to… a desk where I fetched French roast for an egotistical producer. My job description was basically “Professional Apologizer and Coffee Courier.” I spent my nights writing screenplays and my days answering phones, eventually winning the ultimate Hollywood prize: a case of mononucleosis from sheer exhaustion. One of my scripts was actually optioned, but in a classic Tinseltown twist, it stayed in “development hell” forever. My health was failing, my script was gathering dust, and the “glamour” was wearing thin.

The Elevator Pivot

Then, I stepped into an elevator and met Mr. Right—or as I call him now, Mr. UnHollywood. In a city of plastic smiles and tactical networking, he was just… warm. He was the human equivalent of a lighthouse.

Five years later, we were building a life. But life, as it turns out, doesn’t always follow the script. We welcomed a delightful two-year-old son, but we were also walking through the charcoal-gray grief of losing our daughter, who was stillborn. It was a landscape so bleak I didn’t think I could navigate it. I went back to my roots: I picked up a pen. Journaling didn’t fix the pain, but it gave it a place to live so I didn’t have to carry it all in my chest. Mr. UnHollywood stayed by my side, never doubting that we’d find our “happy ending,” even if it looked different than we’d planned.

The Slow-Motion Memoir

During the next decade we welcomed a new baby boy, a rascal who smelled like birthday cake and kept everyone running. I found myself in a blur of PTA meetings, animal activism, and being a “Scout Mom”—a role I never auditioned for but played with surprising intensity. I was the world’s slowest writer. While other people were finishing novels, I was busy organizing juice boxes and camp outs.

But the words were still there. My journals eventually became the backbone of my memoir, Love, Mom: A Mother’s Journey From Loss to Hope. Seeing my words excerpted in Voices of the Women’s Health Movement alongside icons like Gloria Steinem felt like a nod from my seven-year-old self. I was finally writing for the outcasts again.

The Full Circle

Finding balance is still as much work as earning Eagle Scout. Between writing an illustrated history of Southern California horseback riders (a nod to my childhood horse stories) and keeping up with my Day Job, I’m always “almost finished” with something.

But sometimes, the best things take the longest to cook. At the age of 36,  my niece Becca Lory Hector received an autism diagnosis. Watching her embrace her identity with such fierce strength inspired an idea that wouldn’t let go. She eventually wrote a fabulous memoir, Always Bring Your Sunglasses. I began research on a Young Adult novel.

Years passed. Mr. UnHollywood and I were officially empty nesters. I needed a new project to kickstart my creative juices. That’s when my superstar “polymath” brother and his darling, entrepreneurial friend recruited me to write a children’s book series, Lip Monsters: Momo Motormouth. Working with illustrator Victoria Greenwood, we’ve partnered with independent bookstores and Best Buddies to support kids with special needs.

I eventually returned to the Young Adult novel. Now, after six years of labor, love, and a lot of coffee, Weirdos Welcome, is finally set to hit shelves in February 2026. It’s a reminder that the world doesn’t need us to fit in; it needs us to show up exactly as we are.

Incidentally, I’m still that girl under the covers with a flashlight. Only now, I’m not just reading the stories—I’m making sure the underdogs get the ending they deserve.