I don’t consider myself a professional writer.
I felt the need to externalize emotions, often sad ones, since I was a girl, and I wrote a few poems many years apart from each other, but not enough to turn them into a collection to publish. Two of them nonetheless were rewarded in two contests, to my greatest satisfaction!
I find reading – and writing as well – are necessary and vital moments for ourselves, to escape the frenetic path life subjects us to, the continuous race which prevents us from slowing down just to think or even to observe wonderful autumnal colors.
For a few years now, I’ve had the project to write the story that binds my son and me, starting from what I suffered before he was there. Some kind of intertwined destinies.

My Book

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