About Auntie Angie
Meet Auntie Angie
The Origin Story of Auntie Angie
When I was a kid, my godfather, Uncle Lindy, called me “Auntie Angie.” It started with a joke, a twist of names because I called him Uncle, and he wasn’t. Not by blood. But in all the ways that mattered, he was family. And sometimes, love is louder than lineage, so the name stuck like it had always belonged to me.
Later, when I grew up and started teaching and also started a non profit for kids to have ways to volunteer in the community, the kids in my life did the same thing. They called me Auntie Angie like I wasn’t just their teacher or the lady running a nonprofit. Like I was something more. Something warmer. A home they could walk into with all the mess of growing up in their hands, and I’d be there, steady, helping them find where everything fit.
I guess that’s what Auntie Angie means. It’s not just a name—it’s an invitation to be seen, to be cared for, to be loved. And it followed me. Through every classroom, every project, every place I tried to build something good in this world. Even now, with my 12 godchildren and two beautiful nephews, it’s still there. A name that holds the weight of belonging, given freely.
So when it came time to write, when I decided to put my heart into children’s books, there was no other name I could use. Auntie Angie is more than just what they call me. It’s a piece of my heart woven into the lives of the kids who trust me with theirs. It’s the love I was given, and the love I’ve carried forward, spilling onto the page for every child to hold.
"That Death Writer"
A few weeks ago, I was at an author event and someone came up to me and said, “Aren’t you that death writer?”
I know they didn’t mean any harm, but… it stung. It got under my skin. I’ve ruminated over it for weeks now, and I’m not even sure why. Maybe because it felt like I was being backed into a dark corner, like an actress who found herself typecasted—playing a role she never thought she'd play. Anyone who knows me knows I come with a big smile and a bubbly nature. You’d never guess that my first published book was a children’s story about death and grief.
I didn’t choose to be a writer about grief. Not really. But life... life has a way of nudging you, like a gentle push down a path you weren’t sure you wanted to walk.
It reminded me of R.L. Stine—yeah, the Goosebumps guy. He started out writing funny books. Over a hundred joke books for kids! Can you imagine? But it wasn’t until he started scaring kids, not making them laugh, that he found his true calling. At the time, no one wanted to write books that scared kids because no one wanted kids to be scared. But kids were already scared. He just gave them an outlet to know they're not alone. A way to face their fears through stories.
Have you ever noticed that when someone is scared from behind, or riding a rollercoaster, they scream, yes, but shortly after the scream comes a laugh? Humans seek humor when we’re scared. Just like we seek hope when we're sad. And I think... maybe that’s why being called “that death writer” bothered me so much. Because I thought I was a different kind of writer—the kind who made people smile, not cry.
But deep down, I know the truth. True healing doesn’t come without a little pain first. I see it in the children who clutch my book like they’re holding onto something precious. Their eyes full of sadness, but also hope. My stories aren’t just about the tears; they’re about finding strength in those tears.
Yes, I also write magical fairytales—stories that wake the imagination and let children dream. And goodness knows, our children need those dreams. They’re inheriting a world that’s broken in so many ways, a world where they’ll need all the creativity they can muster to fix the problems we’re leaving behind.
But before they can heal the world, they need to know how to heal themselves.
And maybe that’s why I write about the hard stuff. Because grief is a teacher. It’s a reminder that pain and love are connected. That healing doesn’t mean avoiding the hard things, but learning how to carry them.
So, yeah, maybe I am “that death writer.” But I’m also someone who believes that in the darkest moments, there’s light. In the sadness, there’s always hope. And that’s what I give them—the courage to feel, to face their pain, and still find something worth smiling about in the end.
Bittersweet. I suppose that’s the perfect word for it. I write stories that make hearts ache a little, just enough to heal in all the right places.