About the Writer

The photographer responsible for this shot, Robin Winkles, makes me look much better than I do in real life. Try not to act surprised if we ever meet.

I’m Missy, and I’m grateful you’ve A) found my blog and B) stuck around to read more about it. I can already tell you’re a nice person and we’ll probably be the best of friends.

More about the blog itself can be found here. This page is all about me, me, me. According to experts, I’m part of the me generation, so shameless self promotions is where it’s at, baby.

I’m a freelance writer of marketing copy, creative writing, social media content, and words in general. By day/night/weekend/holiday, I’m also a wife and mom. I live with my family of boys, two small and one tall, in Austin, Texas, where I’m something of an oddity – a native Austinite. We’re a rare breed these days, thanks to Austin’s casual city charm, which draws people from all over the world.

My boys are funny, happy-hearted little guys. They also have a lot of what we call the dickens in them. Always thinking, those two, and the results are often hilarious and terrifying at the same time. I’d like to grow up to be just like my kids. I write about them now and then, so you’ll get to know H., who is almost 6, and P., who is about four months shy of 3.

We don’t have a dog right now, because I can only house-train one creature at a time. And I still have one untrained person in this house. But if you asked, I’d tell you I’m a dog person.

I like long walks on the beach, but only if it’s slightly overcast and the wind is calm. So yeah, I’m not really a beach girl, although I like it well enough. I’m more of a cold-weather fan, because we always want what we can’t have. Austin ranges from warmish to please-Lord-my-face-is-melting-could-you-please-please-please-make-it-rain. So I love to travel places where the plants are green and the people don’t have a permanent sheen of sweat.

I love fine wine, especially that kind that comes in a box with a spigot, and cultural events like Phineas and Ferb marathons. Truth be told, I do dig a great museum; a really good play will have me leaping out of my seat with tears of admiration flowing; I’m a sucker for a musical; I can taste the difference between a good wine and a cheap one; I read. A lot. And yet, I’m perfectly content with my box of booze and some cartoons. Not always at the same time.

My dream job doesn’t exist anymore, because I want to be a writer on Sid Caesar’s Your Show of Shows or hang out with Rob, Buddy and Sally on the Dick Van Dyke show (I know that wasn’t a documentary… can we just let it slide?). Or the ultimate gig: The Carol Burnett Show. I’m very nostalgic for a time and place that was never mine to begin with. I guess that’s one of my great faults.

I’m an un-athletic athlete. I’ve run limped through a marathon, completed a triathlon, and spend an absurd amount of time at physical therapy or stretching at home. But I love it. Aches, pains, and cedar fever be damned. Come June – if not sooner – I’ll be doing another triathlon.

I’m also one of those: a believer that I’m saved by my faith. This is not an in-your-face aspect of my writing, but I guess it could be if I felt the need. It’s simply how I try – and often fail – to live my life. It’s quite unsimply the one thing that keeps me going when I see pain, suffering, and tragedy. What other choice do I have but to walk in faith? I don’t see one. But that doesn’t mean I’m sitting here doling out judgement on any other faith. Quite the opposite, in fact. What I don’t know, well that’s a whole lot of stuff. I don’t know anything about anything when you get right down to it, so I don’t claim otherwise.

I could tell you more, by why spoil it all? I’ll blog the rest of it.

From the depths of my heart, thanks for stopping by.