Please tell us a little about yourself and Ziva the Great. 

I’m a Texas-based children’s author, and I care a lot about stories. Maybe too much sometimes. I believe children deserve books that feel thoughtful. Not rushed. Not loud for the sake of being loud. Stories you can sit with for a minute. 

I tend to write quieter, character-centered stories. I’m interested in belonging, courage, memory, and the ways people and animals heal without always announcing that they’re healing. Whether it’s a guarded Maine coon cat, a very determined little dog, or a gentle ghost who gathers dreams at night, I’m drawn to the small moments that actually matter. 

I grew up loving children’s books that felt timeless, the kind you read more than once and notice something new each time. I think that still guides me. I care about rhythm, about page turns, and about how words and illustrations hold hands. More than anything, I hope the books I write are ones a child might keep nearby.  

What made you interested in storytelling? 

Even as a child, I imagined stories behind everything. A tree wasn’t just a tree; it had history. An old house wasn’t empty; it was waiting. Writing is how I hold on to that way of seeing the world. It helps me make sense of courage, belonging, grief, and hope, all the things that shape us. Writing for children feels like coming back to the beginning, and I’m grateful I get to do it.  

What are you working on after Ziva the Great? 

Right now, I’m working on a few stories that feel close to me. One is about a lonely ghost who collects children’s dreams at night. It’s tender and a little wistful. I didn’t set out to write about loneliness, but that’s where [the story] led me. 

I’m also working on a story inspired by my father, who was born with a heart condition and decided he was going to live boldly anyway. That one is personal and carries some weight with it. 

Another is about a flower growing just outside a garden and the unseen kindness that saves her. That story came from thinking about how often the ones on the edge are the ones who need us most. 

And the Belle and Asher stories are still growing, too. They have humor and heart, but they’re still about belonging. I don’t think I can escape that theme. It keeps finding me. 

What can readers expect that might be different from your previous body of work? 

I think readers can expect growth. Maybe more depth in some places. Maybe even new angles I haven’t explored before. The heart will still be there. Belonging will probably always find its way in. But I’m allowing the work to evolve with me instead of trying to repeat what I’ve already done. I don’t see that as inconsistency. I see it as paying attention. 

Portions of this Q&A were edited for clarity.