I could say that this endeavor took a year and a half to get off the ground and logistically speaking, that would be correct. But the truth is it was a lifetime in the making.
Perhaps the first seeds were planted when I was 9 years old and wrote a book called “The Crocodile Who Couldn’t Cry.” It would win the Young Author’s contest and send this awkward, painfully shy kid to Interlochen College of Creative Arts to accept my award and spend the day with other writers of varying ages. From then on, Mom would always work into a conversation with strangers and friends alike that her daughter was a published writer and her book could be found on the shelves of every public library in the state of Michigan. I would hide behind her.