In my tween and teen years, I spent countless hours nestled among the sturdy branches of Mr. Goodtree, my deciduous friend, who listened patiently to my tales of adolescent woe. When I wasn’t lamenting the harsh fate of my life as a short, bushy-haired, nearsighted nobody, I was inventing stories in which I was never a short, bushy-haired, nearsighted nobody.

Getting my "teen angst" on at fifteen!

         For some unfathomable reason, I felt drawn back to stage of this adolescent drama as a high school and middle school English teacher. Today, as a middle school literacy coach, I have the incredible privilege of being surrounded by masses of angst-ridden, mercurial, and amazing tweens and teens who remind me daily how painfully wonderful (or wonderfully painful!) life can be, and how writing and reading make it more liveable.
         When I am not nurturing and being nurtured by young readers and writers, spending time with my husband and two boys, or attending to all the “To-Do’s” on my mental sticky notes, I am trying to oblige all the noisy characters in my head by telling their stories. 
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