Mary Butler

Author bio

Happily tethered to my soulmate for 21 years—two decades and change of love, laughter, and the occasional ridiculous inside joke that could crack the cosmos wide open. Our house hums with life, not just from my 87-year-young mother, who glows with the kind of warmth and wisdom only a human time machine can emit, but also from the furry and feathered chaos that claims me as their own. Three chihuahuas—each convinced they’re ten feet tall—a pit bull with a philosopher’s soul, a mildly judgmental cat, a turtle who moves at their own meditative pace, and a flock of chickens living in a mansion that puts my first apartment to shame. The woodland creatures stop by, too, bribed into loyalty by food I dish out like a benevolent cult leader. For 18 years, I’ve been a card-carrying vegan and lover of all things with hearts that beat and eyes that beg for snacks. Baking is where my mind quiets, where sugar, flour, and the perfect rise bring me peace. My family and this lovable, chaotic circus make my soul hum a tune that never gets old. And writing—writing is the fire that keeps me up at night, the passion that refuses to be ignored, no matter how full the house (or my cookie jar) may be.

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