I am Anna. Well, actually, I am not. For that’s not the name my parents gave me. But no matter. It is the one I adopted for myself. Anna seems more fitting, easier, after half a lifetime of international experiences. Anna is the name I give the Starbucks baristas. The people I meet in China, Mexico, Italy or wherever my travels take me. It is the one that seems best suited for the version of me that writes in English. The edition of me that wishes to share courage and kindness with the world.
My sister reminded me recently that I have been writing stories since forever. Stories to keep her entertained. Poems to process emotions. Letters and emails to share experiences, joy, sadness and elation. Novellas to remember events. I adore words. And the power and emotion they hold.
In line with the historical fiction I read to unwind, my writing has always had a firm grounding in the truth. And the truth, I find, is fluid. Truth is in the eye of the beholder. Truth is perception through our own life’s filter.
So, my writing has perceptions and truths in it. I draw on my own experiences and those of my friends. Yet, the result is fiction.
My personal values are courage and kindness. And my aim in sharing what I write is to spread more kindness and understanding into the world. There lies enormous strength in compassion and if my words even encourage a few people on this globe to be kinder, more courageous and compassionate, I believe it would make the world a better place. And that would warm my heart.
Anna Snowflake 