Ingrid and Authorship

Since I was a little girl, I have wanted to be a writer. I used to carry a backpack everywhere with me that had my notebook and a number of pens and pencils in it. Every single chance I got, I would find a corner or a bench, or huddle in the back of that ancient Toyota Landcruiser that smelled like wood and oil, and I would scribble stories and poems until my wrist ached.

It has been my dream since I was 7 years old to publish a book and call myself an author. I veered away from this dream for decades. I suffered, lost confidence, and tried different paths.

But then, this week, that dream came true. And every time I think about it, I want to cry. It’s a huge deal for me.

My journey here did not go at all like I thought it would when I was 7, 8, 9, 10 years old. It wasn’t a straight shot to my dream. I went through all kinds of identities, crisis, and personal iterations before I got here; holding this book in my hand, marveling at my name on the cover.

When I was little, I thought I would be writing thick novels like my heroes, John Grisham, Stephen King, Anne Rice.

Instead, I’m writing with Spirit’s pen, being dictated to by the divine, and reveling in the message right along with you. WOW.

A lot has changed since I was little. Publishing has changed. Careers have changed. I have changed. My writing has changed. But my response to the question “what do you want to be when you grow up” never changed, even when I thought I could not do it:

I wanna be a writer.

You can buy this book of spiritual inspiration here:

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