About Peggy
I’m from the Dakotas. That means long winters, quiet endurance, and learning early how to get through things without announcing it. I don’t soften my edges to make people comfortable, and I don’t write stories meant to be palatable. I write what stays with me. What nags. What refuses to let go.
My stories aren’t built to entertain everyone. They’re built to survive being written. Some of them come from memory. Some from things I noticed once and never forgot. Some from places people don’t like to look at for very long. I don’t explain myself in my work, and I don’t guide the reader by the hand. You either follow, or you don’t.
I don’t chase trends. I don’t write to be marketable. I write the books I want to exist, whether they fit neatly on a shelf or not. If they’re read, good. If they’re misunderstood, that’s fine too. The stories don’t belong to the audience once they’re finished—they belong to the page.
Truthfully, I expect only my daughters to read them. Everyone else is incidental. If someone finds themselves in the words, that’s their business. I’ve already said what I needed to say.
To my daughters
Everything I write is anchored to two people, whether they realize it or not. CL and MJ are the reason I learned how to keep going when quitting would’ve been easier, and how to stay honest when lying would’ve been more convenient. They’ve seen me tired, stubborn, unsure, and still moving forward anyway. If these stories matter to anyone, it’s because they mattered to me first—and if they ever reach anyone else, that’s fine. But they were written with my daughters in mind, and that’s more than enough.