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One of my early memories–I must have been 3 years old–is of sitting at the child’s size table in my parent’s kitchen one afternoon with a set of alphabet stickers. The stickers were hard and heavy, almost like the tape for a label-making machine. The thin white angles and curves of the letters rose from a dark red background. I traced my fingers over the whole sheet, identifying the “M,” the “E,” and the “G” that made up my name. I began to peel the stickers off the sheet, one at a time, carefully lining them up to make neat rows. Periodically, I got up and ran over to the counter where my mother sat, reading a magazine, or maybe clipping coupons. I handed my small rows of letters to her and demanded, again and again, to know if I’d made a “real word.” I wanted so badly to crack the code of turning spoken words into letters that I planned to do it simply by combining letters until they magically became words. Eventually, my mother grew tired of this game and sat down at the table with me. We started with “cat.”

I was born in San Diego, California and I grew up in the small town of Coronado. Since high school I’ve lived in  Westchester County, NY; New York City; State College, PA; and now Decatur and Atlanta, GA.

In my spare time, I sing, take photos, and find every excuse possible to try new foods and visit new places.

I have been lucky to work with patient and thoughtful teachers throughout my life. I strive to treat each of my students with the care and generosity offered to me. There is no one right way to write. No matter how much we think we know, writing and language remain deeply–and beautifully–mysterious.