"My mother, Carol Jones Anderson, once told me, 'One day you’re going to write many books.' I started writing at a very young age, creating stories with the few toys I had. Late at night, when the house was quiet, the soft glow of a kerosene lamp became my companion. I'd dig through my backpack for scraps of paper, gather my toys, and bring the adventures in my mind to life. My mother loved reading my little stories, though she'd often chase me off to bed, worried I'd strain my eyes under the dim light. She was right—by the age of 13, I needed glasses. I remember her smiling and saying, 'I told you so.' Still, nothing could stop me from building characters and worlds that only I could see. My mother believed in my writing long before I did. For her, it was a gift. For me, it was simply joy."