About Charlene

I come from a long line of storytellers.

As a young girl, I listened to stories about my great-great-grandfather—the one who believed better days were always just around the bend. “Younder will be better,” he would say. I listened as my Aunt Ruth talked about life on the farm before telephones and television, and I love hearing how my parents met—my mother waiting tables in a small-town café, my father newly home from the Korean War.

A few years after I graduated from high school, I stood beside my grandad’s casket and looked down at his worn, gnarled hands. I remember wondering how many stories they held that I would never hear.

That moment stayed with me.

I began keeping journals—not to document perfection, but to make sense of life. Loving and losing. Missteps and second chances. Learning that perseverance is less about strength and more about staying when things get hard.

Over time, I came to understand how much the small stories matter. Not the grand arcs, but the moments in between—the ones we don’t always recognize until we look back.

That’s why I write.

I’ve spent much of my life paying attention to the moments that slip past unnoticed—the ones shared around kitchen tables, in passing conversations, or long after the moment itself has ended.

I earned my degree later in life. I’ve written books I once doubted I could finish. I’ve climbed mountains, survived serious health scares, and learned that sometimes you just keep going.

Along the way, I’ve raced cars, walked a half-marathon, and danced on Debbie Reynolds’ staircase at the Frontier Hotel in Las Vegas. I love old houses, Sunday drives, British television, and the way a good story lingers long after the last page.

Most of all, I believe ordinary moments matter.

They’re the ones that shape us. They’re the ones that remain. They’re the ones we leave.