My name is Brooke. I am a mother, a daughter, a wife, a cook, a writer, a reluctant gardener, and easily bored.

I always thought I would grow up to be a writer, but in 2001, I won a pretty nifty award for short fiction then immediately stopped writing because while failure doesn’t bother me so much, success is terrifying. Instead of writing, I became a writing teacher. When that got boring, I went to culinary school and worked in a soup kitchen. I learned to weld, then took classes in printmaking and glass fusing. Next, I started thinking about traveling, then doing some traveling. I navigated through the Rocky Mountains with a teenager during construction season while the sun shined and rain poured at the same time. I rafted the Colorado River without falling out of the raft. I managed to drive the entirety of Ireland without wrecking the car. I love American regional cuisine and make really good risotto, when the mood strikes, and I belong to a fancy-schmancy wine club that intimates me even more than receiving nifty awards.

I’m clueless and clumsy. I’ve fallen off a parade float, wrecked my achilles tendon while running for a bus on Halloween night in Las Vegas, and perfected a broken arm/dislocated shoulder combo by falling backward down the stairs.

I’m also very lucky because the people I love, love me back. My house is comfortable, my dog is happy, and the cats keep my feet warm at night.

Throughout all of it, I’ve refused to write so much as a poem or a post-it note.