About Me

Ashlyn Cramer has been working as a counselling psychologist for over 20 years. She completed her undergraduate degree in psychology at McGill University, and then went on to do a master’s and doctoral degree at the University of Alberta. Although her focus was on psychology, writing weaved its way through her studies, as she researched conflicted sibling relationships for both her thesis and dissertation, where she told “stories” of the experience before analyzing them further. Once she was finished her studies, she was registered as a psychologist, and worked in a variety of settings before starting a private practice in 2009. At the start of her career, she wrote articles and book reviews on psychological topics for academic journals, and began to write editorial pieces for local newspapers, on such topics as test anxiety, sibling conflict, adolescent depression, and post-partum adjustment. She also played the part of “Dear Abby” by taking part in an “ask the expert” column for a local periodical. She continued to engage in creative writing over the years, and completed her debut novel, Baby Blues, in 2020. She still works in private practice, while writing, and lives in Alberta, Canada with her husband, two teenaged children, and an Australian labradoodle.

I feel as though I have been writing for my entire life. When I was 9, my mom had an old-style typewriter, with round, punchy keys, a little bell that rang when you reached the edge of the page, and this long, strange arm that you had to move back and forth in order to return the carriage. I asked her to teach me how to type properly, and she placed my fingers on the keys. With a lot of practice, I became the only kid in grade four who could type 60 words per minute without looking at the letters, and I began my first novel. I only got a few chapters in before it was abandoned…but still…the drive was there…

I became more interested in writing short stories over the next few years, particularly in creative writing class at school. One day, Mr. R., who was my grade six teacher, asked me to read one of my stories aloud to the class. I was astounded when I noticed tears in his eyes as I read, and I was hit with the realization that my words had the power to influence and move others. To tears. I attempted to write a children’s book later that year, as my four-year-old cousin was coming to visit, and I thought it would be a nice gift. However, he wasn’t that into books, and I remember practically hog tying him to the reading nook in my room, so that I could read the book through to the end. 

I took another creative writing class in junior high, and was dismayed when 80% of the class was poetry. Poetry was not my favourite genre, and I felt increasingly discouraged at the sight of red slashes and question marks throughout my words. Near the end of the year, we were tasked with writing two fairy tales, and I was so excited to finally be back in my element. I was cautious when I handed them in, as I was terrified to see my work slashed apart again. When the teacher called me to his desk, I felt hopeful about getting some positive feedback, but this quickly evaporated when he demanded to know who had written these stories for me. When compared to my awkward and lackluster poems, he simply couldn’t believe that I had written these stories, and I was filled with humiliation and dismay at his lack of belief in me. I still feel flickers of anger when I think about how this man – a teacher, who should be there to encourage, motivate, and inspire – crushed my spirit and my confidence. After my experience with him, my inner critic spoke up even louder, and my writing was closeted for many years before I grew brave enough to share it with anybody again.

And yet, I still continued to write. I kept many different journals, and I became obsessed with the works of Natalie Goldberg, using her writing prompts to fill notebook after notebook with stream of consciousness writing – I don’t know if these would be called essays, or stories, or poems, but having words pour out in this way was freeing. I created a writing group in my late 20s – called the “Women’s Writing Circle” – and we used this model, where we each took turns coming up with a writing prompt, and would then frantically scratch out our thoughts for a half hour or so, before sharing them with each other. We met weekly for years, and once this had faded away, I moved on to such things as The Artist’s Way. I remember getting up an hour early to do Morning Pages for several months in a row, when I had young babies at home, but eventually, my fatigue won out and I stopped doing this as well. But the writing never ended – I started secret blogs (and I may transfer some of those posts to the blog on this site, if I can find some entries that are a little less…self-indulgent…) I also wrote a few personal essays and short stories, and entered one in a contest with the Writer’s Union of Canada in 2013.

I began writing my debut novel in 2011, and had several fits and starts with it over the past several years. I was really good at revising what I had already written, but didn’t get many new words on the page until 2020. I don’t know if the stars aligned, with Covid and less to do, less places to travel, more angst to spill out of me – or if it was the discovery of Nanowrimo, whose writing challenges were a good motivator for me. Whatever it was, I am grateful, and the first draft of my novel was finished by the end of last year.

And now, here I am. I am in the process of revising my novel, and getting it ready to send out to various agents to pursue traditional publication. I have thoughts about the next novel already dancing in my head, and I am ready to begin the next chapter of my writing journey.