I didn't set out to write a children's book. I set out to survive.

I grew up in Minnesota — 10,000 lakes, long winters, the kind of childhood that teaches you early that life can be both beautiful and hard. I left for New York in my early thirties, chasing something I couldn't quite name yet. I found a career, a community, and a life I loved. I also found myself standing in lower Manhattan on September 11, 2001 — a day that changed everything, for everyone, but especially for those of us who were there.

I am a survivor. Of that day. Of many things that happened long before it. Of the kind of pain that doesn't show up on the outside but lives very quietly — and sometimes very loudly — on the inside.

For years I carried a voice that was harder on me than anyone else ever could be. A voice that said not enough. Too much. Wrong again. I didn't have a name for it then. Now I call him Tony.

I spent two decades in New York building a life and learning who I was. Then my father needed me, and I went home to Minnesota — trading the city skyline for the lakes I grew up on. I sat with my father through his final year. I learned what it means to love someone all the way to the end, and what it means to find yourself again when that chapter closes.

When he passed, I pointed my car west. I followed the beauty — straight to Washington, where the water meets the mountains and the eagles fly low enough to photograph. I brought my camera, my guitar, my notebooks, and Tony.

Two years later, Easy, Tony!™ is my debut picture book. But it's really just the beginning of a much longer story — one I've been living my whole life and am only now finding the words to tell.

I am an author, a songwriter, a wildlife photographer, and a survivor. I believe that our hardest moments are also our greatest teachers. I believe that self-compassion isn't weakness — it's the bravest thing any of us can do.

And I believe that if a little dragon named Tony can learn to be gentle with himself, maybe the rest of us can too.

My journey is my teacher. I hope it becomes yours too.

— Sherri