I've been a writer for as long as I can remember.

Long before there were books, websites, or publishing plans, there was a notebook, a question, and a need to understand the world. Writing has always been how I process life, wrestle with difficult questions, and make sense of the things that matter most.

The Garage Office became the place where much of that work happened.

My late husband, Woody, and I bought our dream house and spent years rebuilding it together. In the evenings, after work, we'd sit in the garage over a beer and one of his cigars, talking late into the night. We debated ideas, solved the world's problems, talked shop, played music trivia, made plans, and laughed more than we probably should have.

Life happened in that garage.

After Woody died, the garage became something different. For four years, I spent much of my time there alone. It became a place of grief, prayer, reflection, and ultimately transformation. It was there that I grew closer to God. It was there that I wrestled with faith, loss, purpose, and the questions that eventually led me to enter the Catholic Church and receive my sacraments at the age of fifty-three.

It was also where I wrote.

For years, books lived in my head waiting to be written. In that garage, I began putting words on paper. Some of what I write is memoir. Some explores faith, theology, relationships, grief, and the challenges of living authentically in a complicated world. All of it is driven by a desire to search for truth and to understand what it means to live well.

The books tell the stories.

The writing is about what those stories mean.