I started writing, really writing, when I was in Jr. High School. I had an English teacher, named Tom Sawyer (no joke! It was destined to be) who was incredible, and fostered my love of creative writing. I won a literary award in college for one of my short stories and then.... life happened. I married a wonderful man, we had three amazing children together, adopted two dogs, and I went from having a pretty substantial amount of free time, to having none at all.

My boys are older now, and as is the tendency of teenagedom, they sleep until noon, and are out of the house most of the day, leaving me once again with more free time than I would like (I'm a little partial to my kids, and like having them around, but just as Sarah says in Built to be Forgotten, "We raise them to fly").

One morning I woke up with a story stuck in my head, and I decided I'd try getting it out on paper. What I ended up with was Built to be Forgotten. The story has drastically changed since those first few pages, but the beginning and end are much the same. It has been a labor of love, and regardless of what happens, I am immensely proud of it. That said, I would be lying if I didn't admit that I am terrified that it isn't going to sell or is overwhelmingly hated.

Soon after I finished my second edit of Built to be Forgotten, my husband inspired me, though he doesn't know it, to write The Symptom of Us.

And because I am now not busy enough, once a week I write an article for Medium about living with invisible illness, chronic pain, and depression, while trying to maintain my optimism, and keep my sense of humor intact. Some days are rough, but the majority are good, and I am grateful for that. But mostly, I am grateful for you, especially if you have read this far! I appreciate anyone who takes time out of their day to learn a little about me.

So take a look around, follow me on socials, where I regularly make a fool of myself, or reading an excerpt from both books. And again, thank you for being here, from the bottom of my heart.

-Alison