Kim Pearson, Author

My mission is to help people tell and preserve their unique and valuable stories – including my own. My talents and experiences have contributed to my making this mission a reality. I am a freelance writer and artist, the author of over twenty books and counting, and a ghostwriter, editor, and writing coach for over fifty more.

I often write about storytelling in its many wonderful forms. The Masks on Grandmother’s Wall is about the power of storytelling and how it connects, inspires, teaches, and heals us. Making History: how to remember, record, interpret and share the events of your life award-winning non-fiction which offers a powerful method of discovering how your personal stories contribute to history. Dog Park Diary: the social round of Goody Beagle is an award-winning book, in funny words and photos, at the world through a dog’s eyes. Also three short-story collections available on Kindle, Childish Discoveries, Adult Distractions, and Creature Discomforts. And more.

New books which will be available soon are The Boxes in the Closet, a memoir of my parents’ love story set during World War II; and my illustrated haiku series, which starts with now available Illustrated Haiku for Spirits of Magic & Mystery, and will eventually contain 24 more. Even a haiku of seventeen syllables can tell a story.

Writing is who I am, way down at the base of my soul. (Yes, I know that sounds grandiose. Oh well.) It is good to know why you do what you do. Here is why I write, from my first published book, Eating Mythos Soup: poemstories for Laura.

“I write because when I do I am alive. I write because without writing I live in the half light of a dull November day when everyone else is at a birthday party. I write because then I am at the party too. I play with balloons and wear colored streamers in my hair.

I write because the world smells good and the light is so bright and beauty sits like a beating pulsing bursting heart underneath my skin, and if I don’t put it down on paper I bleed from every pore.

I write because my life is important and I want everyone to know that my life began and ended and in between love flowed through me and my spirit danced with gods.

I write because every signpost I come to points me back to the writer’s path, even from the depths of the electronic jungle. I write because when I do I feel the soothing aahh begin in my own throat, and I hear it echoed from the throats of my loved ones as they see me finally coming home.

I write the little stories and the big ones, in the voices of bells and heartbeats. They are mythic journeys and frantic dances, humdrum vacations and gala celebrations. They are slow and dangerous, fast and clumsy, sweet and smooth tasting. They knock you flat when you’re not looking.

I write because if I don’t my life is ashes and lice, and a gluey film of dust lies thick over my skin. I write because it is my protection from the vast and awful fear of nothingness; because it is the narrow plank I have laid across the chasm of the Great Void.

I like words, period.

There is no end. There is no beginning. There is only the infinite passion of life.”
– Federico Fellini