There you are!

Let's get this journey started, shall we?

Hello there, I’m Kristine:

unexpected novelist, wife, and mother of three school-aged children I began teaching at home in 2020 (which was so not the plan). I write from an aging laptop in the margins of a life that grows busier by the day, learning anew how to carve out “a room of [my] own,” both literal and figurative.

(If you’d like, you can read a little more about me here.)

“But I don’t want to go among mad people," Alice remarked.
"Oh, you can’t help that," said the Cat: "we’re all mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad."
"How do you know I’m mad?" said Alice.
"You must be," said the Cat, "or you wouldn’t have come here.”

How did I get here?

One sunny afternoon on a long drive home to Tennessee through the rolling blue hills of Kentucky, I listened to Mary Oliver read her poem “I Happened to be Standing” and knew in every cell what I was meant to call this publication, though I didn’t know yet what it would become.

Scribbling drafts a few weeks later, I could envision updates here and there and perhaps a place for long form writing that might untether me from other online spaces, while staying connected to readers like you.

Instead, what I’ve come to find is a treasured place to feel the pulse of a writing life growing and sharpening amidst the otherwise ordinary day-to-day demands of homemaking and educating. And a deeper connection to others through writing than I’ve maybe ever experienced before.

What do I write about?

For years, I struggled with the finite culture of thumbs aching from scrolling through social media where I spent years “microblogging” (after abandoning my real blog) about the earliest years of motherhood and then later about books, both reading and writing them.

I came here to write what comes to me when I happen to be standing just outside my door, with my notebook open, and listen with my pen in the air.

This means I write about a lot of topics, including family, creativity, and treasured lessons from simple experiences. I’ve never been one for niches, despite the clamoring voices of all the growth gurus. Life’s full of enough rules; this is one place I get to be free.

At any time your inbox might be gifted with a spontaneous essay, poem, or short story, while you can certainly count on my monthly update, known as Air Mail.

You can find an example of recent Air Mail here:

I Like it Here

Here’s the intro to my series on five years as an unexpected novelist:

These Five Years: Introduction

Or perhaps you’re interested in reading a recently published poem:

Woman Undone

Possibly even a bit of short fiction:

Looking for the Flowers

Why would you subscribe?

If you’re the sort of reader who:

• craves the energy people share in conversation over cups of strong coffee or hot tea while sitting tucked into cozy chairs — or frosty pints while bellied up to a worn, wooden bar in dim lighting

• doesn’t mind the occasional tangent or rabbit trail that I promise, I really do, will lead us to some point of significance

• is curious about an unpublished novelist’s pursuit of a place for her stories in the world

• aches for a bit of meaning or magic in the mundane

• wants to be reminded they’re not alone in the challenge of creating amongst the demands of a life with little margin

• loves finding new music, books, art, or perspective on even the smallest things

I hope this can be a point of connection for us.

How does this work?

Every post goes out entirely free to all subscribers, though my more personal essays may be quietly ushered behind a paywall a little while after they’re sent out, mostly to protect what is closest to my core.

You may notice I have paid subscriptions open, thanks to the gentle, generous nudges of a few readers who pledged contributions to my work long before I’d even produced much content. If you have the means and feel so led, your investment in my dreams is more than welcome but not required.

Writing, for me, is the cake and the icing; compensation is truly the cherry on top.

Whether you choose to stay or go, I’m so glad you stopped by.

Until next time,