For a little immigrant girl from Morocco, these four words symbolized wonder and possibility, not only for the future, but about the past. Fairy tales were no more unlikely or magical than dreams of the country I’d left behind—a dazzling land of sun and shadow, hushed whispers, mysterious doorways and winding streets where everyone called my name.These four words guided me into an enchanted garden where I learned many lessons: the overlooked youngest son is often the most powerful, beauty can disguise evil, courage comes from entering the deep, dark woods, and never, ever turn down an old woman who asks for your help. Perhaps most important, these tales made me believe I could create stories of my own.
Please grab a chair and sit at my Mediterranean café, where the coffee smells of cardamom and the tea is served in tiny glasses crammed with fresh mint leaves. Breathe in the scents of jasmine and orange blossoms, watch the sun sink into the sea … and let’s talk about writing, traveling, magic, people and life.
Welcome!
