Why I Write

It's never easy to answer the question, "Why do you write?" It's like asking a criminal why he runs when he hears sirens. You just do.

I see stories in everything I do. It's like seeing dead people, only not so creepy.

There's a story in the way my oldest son can't seem to quit getting toothpaste in his eyes when he brushes his teeth.

There's a story in the way my youngest son builds intricately designed cities out of Legos for hours and then destroys it in a matter of seconds with a rogue band of green army men.

There's a story in my baby brother, bravely marching off to war in Iraq, knowing the risks involved.

There's a story in my husband's 19-year struggle to obtain a degree while working full-time with a wife and two children at home.

And there's the story of me, the one who observes it all and puts her thoughts into words and shares it with the world.

I hope that one day, my words can inspire women to see the joys in being a wife and mother.

I also hope it can render them concious to the fact that they need to turn on the light when they use the bathroom.

I write because I have a story to tell. I pray that someone wants to read it.