I am passionate about writing fiction inspired by the people, places, and things that I love the most.
Why don't writers score touchdowns?
Because writers block.
For the longest time, I was an artist in the closet—that was until Fat Maddy. Maddy was our family’s golden retriever, and though my friends and I would jokingly call my golden, feather-haired pup Fat Maddy, it was our fault she was a tad bit overweight. She was just too cute and just too sweet to not share a nibble of anything we were sinking our teeth into. We made a pact that one day, we’d open up a pub and name it Fat Maddy’s. It would be our tribute to our sweet girl. The eleven years I shared with Maddy were some of the best in my life, every one of them unforgettable. She was a good girl, her nature perfectly showcased by the delicate care she’d bestow when softly taking a treat from your hand. Bright and early each day, she’d waddle her way to me as I came down the stairs and greeted me with a crooked smile and a soft head nudge, her invitation to deliver a quick pet just behind her floppy ears. She loved that more than table food.