My First Novel and the Stories That Followed

My first novel, Emerald Hawks Flight, is based on my childhood memories.

It follows a quiet girl who discovers she can speak to hawks and, through them, uncover secrets her family has kept for years.

That coming-of-age story opened the door to more novels, then to more children's books, and short stories that just walked in, sat down, and told me their tales. They stayed until I got it right. All edited and ready for flight out into the world.

I wanted to write something beautiful and bold. I knew who I was and what I was here to do: learn the deep meaning of "Once upon a time," including the shadow's slow voice and the troll's heavy demands.

I was meant to become an author. A grower of stories. A drawer of lines. Someone who pours ink like a farmer cuts ice.

Fractions. Bones. Gnomes. Hidden sadness in dark woods where whimpers, sobs, and howls wander.

When I can't find the right words, I doodle threads, twines, and vines of ink. They race to the edges of the page, framing what hasn't been read yet. The lines stretch out like sleepy cats waiting to creep further across the pages, hoping to surprise a flustered book (maybe one with a purple cover).

I write books that look at tiny details the way Zen watches one leaf fall. I call them meta-particle zen books small ideas that open wide when you sit with them quietly.

In most of my books, I use wider spacing. It makes them much easier to take in.

I hope they are factual, funny, romantic, intensely emotional and contain your kind of magic.

So pull up a chair. The hawks are listening. The ink is still wet. And I've left the first page empty, just for you.

Welcome to my world. Stay as long as the story holds you.

Patsy Stanley.