Why I Wrote Searching for Faerie, Finding Me

People sometimes ask me why I wrote Searching for Faerie, Finding Me. The answer has changed over the years, but today I think it comes down to one simple truth: I wrote the book I wish I had when I was a little girl. Not because I needed another story to read, but because I needed a voice beside me reminding me that I was enough exactly as I was. Growing up, I never felt deeply connected to the creative in me. The message I somehow heard was that I had to improve, to be better, to nudge just a little bit here and there. Because I was not good enough, because somebody thinks I could be better. Maybe it was not the message given but it was the message I took away. I absorbed the message that if I could just change enough things about myself, perhaps I would finally be good enough.

I don't have easy access to sweeping sunset views, but sunrises are every bit as majestic. This was the first photo I took of the sky this morning, followed by several more taken only moments apart.

For many years, I believed my being different was a big flaw. I was imaginative when practicality was valued. I was creative when conformity was celebrated. I noticed beauty and possibilities where others saw distractions. Because I did not fit neatly into the molds around me, I assumed something must be wrong with me. Looking back, I realize I spent much of my younger life trying to become the person I thought I was supposed to be instead of discovering the person I already was. What changed everything were the strong, compassionate beings I met later in life - friends, mentors, colleagues, and kind souls who appeared when I needed them most. Unlike many voices from my childhood, they did not try to shape me into their image. They encouraged me to become more fully myself. They saw strengths where I thought I had weaknesses. They celebrated what made me different instead of asking me to blend in. Through their friendship, I learned something I wish I had known decades earlier: being different is not a problem to solve. It is often the beginning of discovering your unique path. 

What amazes me is how much can change in just thirty seconds or a minute. The colors shift, the light transforms, and an entirely different scene emerges. It's a gentle reminder that every second carries value, and that even the smallest moments can hold such beauty if we take the time to notice.

When I think about the little girl I once was at eight years old, wondering why she felt so different—I wish she could have heard those voices sooner. I wish she had known that life is not about fitting into a mold designed by other people’s minds. Molds can guide us for a time, but eventually we must grow beyond them and become ourselves. However when molds hold us for too long, we lose our spine, if not our spirit. Perhaps that is what growing up truly means - shedding the mold, stretching the spine and coaxing the spirit to glow brightly. And so I wrote Searching for Faerie, Finding Me for that little 8 year-old girl who stood outside at dusk, watching the sky change colors and feeling something stir inside her that she could not yet name. She loved sunsets, not because they were useful or productive, but because they were beautiful. Yet too often she was told to come inside, to stop daydreaming, to be practical and do chores, to be careful of the creatures of the dark. The darkness, they said, would get her.

What I eventually learned is that it was never the darkness outside that posed the greatest danger. It was the slow dimming of wonder. It was the false belief that imagination was foolish, that sensitivity was weakness, that being different meant something was wrong with me. For many years, I tried to become the person others thought I should be. I tried to fit into molds that were made for me by someone else. I measured myself against expectations I could never quite meet. And with every attempt, I drifted a little farther away from the person I truly was.

As the sun climbs above the mountains, its brilliance makes it impossible to keep staring at the horizon. The colors fade into daylight, the city awakens, and the spell of dawn gently releases its hold.

This book is for that little girl I used to be, but it is also for the many who are still searching. The girls who feel lost in a world that rewards conformity. The minds who feel different, odd, too quiet, too imaginative, too sensitive, or somehow out of place. The observant ones who secretly wonder if everyone else received a map for life while they were left behind. My hope is that somewhere, a young reader will open these pages and recognize a piece of herself. Perhaps she will discover years earlier what took me decades to learn: that she does not need to become someone else to be worthy of love, belonging, or happiness. She does not need to earn her place by changing who she is. She just needs to be. The journey was never about becoming the person others expected me to be. It was about finding my way back to the person I was before the world told me who I should be. And if this story can help even one reader begin that journey a little sooner, then every step of my own search will have been worthwhile.

There is a quiet understanding in that moment: I have lingered long enough. I have gathered what I came for— perspective and peace. Enough to sustain me until tomorrow's sunrise. Now, the day awaits, and there is meaningful work to be done.