One of my early childhood memories is the torture of nap time. I rarely slept. Instead, I spent my time looking out the windows, whispering to my sister, and willing the time to pass so I could go back outside and play.

It wasn’t all bad, though. My mother used to read to us. I truly believe that’s where I learned to get lost in a good story. With my eyes closed, the blinds drawn, and snuggled under the covers, I visited other countries, other times. Magical places that stirred my imagination.

I’ve never forgotten those stories she chose to share. The beginning of my love of reading and the desire to become a writer.