I grew up in a small town about an hour north of Dallas. My affinity for music came from the radio and T.V. and my mother's nightly, musical escape to far off lands where all that is broken is healed with the first two notes of "Dog and Butterfly". I listened to everything. Whatever was playing, wherever I happened to be, I just listened. At home, Moma had the radio on ALL THE TIME and it played everything from Air Supply to Stevie Wonder to the Beatles to Christopher Cross. Then at bedtime, she'd sing some Janis Joplin or a Bobby Gentry tune or whatever happened to be in her heart at the time. She didn't sing it in a "singing a song to a little kid" voice either. She sang the songs for real.

When I was old enough to get past "Get outta my room!!", my brother, Jayson, began getting me to sing harmony with him. At first I didn't get it at all, but then it just clicked. I was about seven years old then, and he has continued to cultivate the music that Moma planted from the beginning.

Then there was the skating rink; the hot spot and, sometimes, the only constant of the sprawling metropolis I lived in. That is where I spent every Friday and Saturday night from the time I was about two and a half until I turned sixteen and got a job. That is where I learned a lot about people in general. I learned a lot about myself. I also learned that no matter who writes the song, George Strait can sing it and burn your heart out of your chest.

I play a little guitar when I write. This is all my mother's fault. She had this J-50 Gibson, since before I was born, and when I was still a foot shorter than the guitar, I would try to play it. I just kept playing until it sounded pretty good to me. Years later, I guess I must have played it a lot, because she started referring to it as "Heather's guitar". I was about fourteen when I figured out some chords and soon some melodies came along, and the words began to write themselves.

So here I am. This is what I do.