Anyone who knows me knows that the biggest dream of my life is to write and publish a book. I always fancied myself a fiction writer. I have file cabinet drawers full of ideas, articles, stories, notes, journals, random slips of paper with hurriedly scribbled messages to myself. I have notebooks filled cover to cover, and page after page of typed  on the computer, but for the longest time, I was just stuck. There were so many stories, so many characters, so many different settings and plots and themes and what if’s floating around in my brain that I just could decide which story I wanted to tell first.

Imagine my surprise when the first full-length manuscript I drafted was a memoir–a story of my adoption, my reunion, and all the tragically beautiful years in between. At this point, it’s still a very rough draft, but it’s there, in black and white, just waiting to be finished.

And, interestingly enough, it all started with a dream…


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