I honestly can’t remember a time when I didn’t want to tell stories. But I can tell you when I started taking telling stories seriously (well, not entirely seriously… thankfully). I was 25, had just had a baby, and went through the ringer with postpartum depression. On the other side of that, a truth glimmered. I don’t mean to be hokey or corny, but in the space of a few weeks it became abundantly clear that writing, being a writer, required my attention. It was one of those things that made me, and something I’d been ignoring a long time in favor of more acceptable aspirations. I’ve talked about this…