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Hello from Jamie's Porch
I live on a small lake in Wisconsin with my husband and three golden retrievers in a former general store that, over the years, has become my own little piece of heaven—thanks to love, estate sales, and a lot of imagination.
I adore peonies, half-priced margaritas, and an endless collection of Post-it notes.
I’ve navigated menopause like the crew of The Perfect Storm—white-knuckled, nauseated, and somehow surviving. I’m getting better at forgiving myself and others—but worse at touching my toes or seeing past the hood of my car without my glasses.
I’m convinced the best way to slice pizza is with a pizza cutter, and I love writing as much as talking. Jesus, junk, and classic rock are my constants. Frogs terrify me, deep water makes me nervous, and hotels without hot tubs are simply unacceptable.
By Pen & Porchlight is my open invitation to linger long after visiting hours, welcomed and unhurried.
By Pen, I share stories of trail and trouble, the messy, beautiful, sometimes ridiculous moments of life that leave us laughing, crying, or shaking our heads.
By Porchlight, I leave the light on—an invitation to work through hard stuff together, or simply sit on the porch swing or steps, wine in hand, listening to crickets and watching fireflies do their thing. I write about hard things, tricky people, and life’s chaos that we’d often rather sweep under the rug.
I soften the world with cozy blankets, gentle paint colors, soft lighting, and a heart learning to stay tender in the middle of it all. Writing is my way of making sense of life, reaching for connection, and leaving a little warmth—and maybe a laugh—for anyone willing to pull up a chair.
About Jamie
Journey of a Storyteller
My love for writing began in my grandmother’s middle bedroom, where her beloved Smith-Corona typewriter lived locked away, waiting for our secret sleepover sessions. It was just for her and me, and every click of the keys felt like magic.
I devoured the humor of Dave Barry, Judy Blume, and Erma Bombeck, but I was equally drawn to essayists unafraid of the dark. I wrote travel brochures for the local motel and my grandparents’ “spring break camp,” chronicling the world as I saw it—or as I wished I hadn’t.
I wrote through high school and college, about places I’d been, people I loved, those who never loved me back, and every missed opportunity along the way. Some write about forks in the road; I wrote about knives in my back and spoons in my eyes.
I have spent too much of myself on other people, sweeping up pieces of me along the way. I write for you because, in some quiet, stubborn way, I am you—and in my stories, I hope you find pieces of yourself, too.
And through it all, Jesus is the light that keeps me writing, keeps me learning, and keeps me believing in grace.