In Person

Born in the shadow of Wyoming’s Big Horn Mountains, squatted my sheltered adolescence in Las Vegas, rambled through my twenties in the high desert of Utah, grown the next decade in Eastern Washington, survived a brief stint in southern California, I am now thriving at the base of the Colorado Rockies as a freelance writer-editor-you-name-it-I’ll-do-it consultant, college-level English teacher and long-distance mother-of-a-twenty-something young man. I earned my MFA in Creative Writing (with an emphasis in poetry) from Eastern Washington University in 2005, with an internship teaching poetry in a medium-security men’s prison.

Laura Walker WriterI have known that writing is my calling ever since I was nine. A favorite maxim is: “If it isn’t written, it isn’t real.” Since finishing grad school, I have used my wordsmithing skills as an editor, website creator, content curator and developer, marketing manager, award-winning business plan writer, English teacher, published poet and overachieving smartass. As an active member of Alcoholics Anonymous since 2008, I love living sober and working with others on the path of recovery or in whatever capacity I can be of service. It’s been many years and many hard lessons, but I am learning (the hard way) to chill my type-A down to a type-A-minus/B+ and be OK with not running the world. My friends, family, colleagues and students appreciate this very much.

Always have been, always will be nocturnal. I’ve grown to accept it. Yes, I am a basement dweller at the moment, and yes, I live with my mom (in a 55+ active adult community, which is a goldmine of great people with fascinating stories), but I’m not the stereotypical socially-awkward, pasty-skinned, Mountain-Dew-guzzling, Doritos-subsisting computer nerd. Although, I love to crochet and between my mom and I, we have three cats, and I guess I am a bit pale. But I love the feel of warm dirt between my toes, the ozone smell of coming rain, how ice cream tastes so much better under summer sun, how I can hear leaves turning orange and red in the crisping of October.