I had always been a storyteller… even before I could speak!  Mom and Dad talk about how I would jabber for long periods of time, gesticulating wildly, and laughing at the funny gibberish I was spewing. The stories in my mind became something I could share once I developed a few rudimentary language skills.  They would be adventurous, fantastic, and daring!  Well, to me at least.  And my family enjoyed them.  But none of my stories had ever been written down.

My Dad had just finished reading Peter and the Starcatchers, by Dave Barry and Ridley Pearson, to me, and my mind was full of adventure.  The book was about how an orphan named Peter became Peter Pan.  I loved the book and it filled my mind with stories of my own about islands and pirates and hidden treasures.

I wanted other people to enjoy my stories.  This became my motivation to learn how to write.  So, at eight years old, I sat down and wrote the first draft of The Secret in the Jungle.  My dad printed it out, and I gave it to my close family for Christmas.  I was so proud.

Nine years passed.  The Secret in the Jungle was resting quietly in a memory box… and wherever grandparents put things that remind them of the little ones they love… and I was glad to keep it that way.  At seventeen years of age, my story did not seem quite as fantastic to me as it did when I was eight.

But to my grandmother, it was still as special as ever.  Unbeknownst to me, she took that book to a friend in the publishing business in hopes of getting a nicer edition of the book printed as a Christmas gift.  But things took an unexpected turn.  For Christmas 2016, they gave me a nicer copy of the book… and a contract offering to publish it!