“There are neither beginnings nor endings to the turning of the Wheel of Time. But it was a beginning.”  Robert Jordan

In my introduction post I explained how I was born with the spark to write. So, why did it almost take 60 years to get to author stage?

“A Beginning” happened to me early 2025 when skunks decided my neighborhood was the perfect location for an aromatic experiment in chaos. Every night, like clockwork, they’d spray. Not near. Not occasionally. Directly into my life. And suddenly, for reasons my body refused to explain, I started reacting—violently. Not to the smell (though, let’s be honest, no one enjoys Eau de Skunk No. 5), but physically, neurologically.

Around that same time, an MRI delivered the kind of news doctors like to cushion with sympathetic eyes: extensive autonomic nervous system damage. Translation? “There’s nothing you can do about it.” To which I said, internally: watch me.

That’s how I found neuroplasticity—a sciencey word for “teaching your brain to do tricks it forgot it could.” The idea that I could retrain my own responses fascinated me. And because I’m a writer, my first instinct wasn’t to meditate or run marathons. It was to write about it.

Only this time, I wanted to make something lighter. Easier to hold. Maybe even funny. So, I created It’s Not My Fault, an activity book for kids (and secretly, grown-ups can enjoy reading it to them). It’s part story, part coloring adventure, built to help children process frustration and self-blame—the same way I was processing my nightly visits from the Skunk Brigade.

Each page pairs gentle words with color illustrations designed to turn “why me?” moments into “what can I do with this?” ones. It’s not a lecture—it’s a conversation with crayons.

Yes, the skunks still spray. And no, I don’t see that changing anytime soon. But here’s the twist: what used to trigger panic now prompts creativity. Somewhere between the odor and the absurdity, I found a way to start retraining not just my nervous system, but my outlook.

It’s an ongoing process, but that’s why there are more books to talk about on this website!

I also learned that sometimes healing doesn’t look like a clean lab report or a sunrise yoga pose. Sometimes, it looks like a book about skunks, a box of colored pencils, and a stubborn refusal to stop trying.

And that was the real beginning — not just of one book, but of a whole new way of existing. What started as my nightly feud with the local skunk population turned into something much bigger: a journey of writing books that heal, amuse, and occasionally smell better than real life.

Along the way, I realized I needed a name that fit this gentler, more whimsical side of my work. Thus Lexa Drane was born — a sort-of anagram of Alexandra, the same me, just rearranged a bit. Fitting, really. Neuroplasticity in name form.

Under Lexa Drane, I get to write the soft stuff — the children’s stories, the coloring books, the gentle reminders that creativity can rewire even the hardest days. She’s the part of me that believes stories can calm a nervous system and that laughter really is a therapy tool.

So yes, it all began with skunks. But every author needs an origin story, and mine just happens to come with stripes.