About Karina Coombs

After an eight year hiatus from my native Massachusetts, where I had been a 30-something single Somerville-living Project Manager, I returned as a 40-something wife of one, mother of two, multiple dog owning exurb dweller. I’ve gone from being a stay at home parent with little to no hobbies to a journalist, freelance writer, and photographer.

Writing was something I hadn’t thought of doing since I was 12  and deep in my Henry James, Tom Robbins, and William F. Buckley Jr. phase (the latter I now blame on a fever dream and too much Paper Chase). My interest in journalism also began in the 80s, inspired by Peter Weir’s The Year of Living Dangerously, Oliver Stone’s Salvador, and  P.J. O’Rourke’s Holidays in Hell. [Insert something here about soul-crushing teen angst, dropping out of school, working in low wage retail jobs, and becoming household help for Boston’s 1%…

In my mid-20s – GED in hand – I returned to school, discovered Sociology, and slowly made my way from community college night courses to counting Hillary Clinton and Madeleine Albright as my fellow Wellesley College alumnae, much to the dismay of many a high school guidance counselor. I had a short lived “Gal Friday” career at a local company where I dabbled in research, QA, technical writing, IT, customer service, and project management before heading west to live in the shadows of 1 Infinite Loop, get married, and have my much beloved eldest. A job-inspired wanderer phase brought us through Texas, back to California, and off to Colorado where we had our much beloved youngest. Once we realized Colorado needed an ocean to offset some of those mountains, we knew it was time to come home.

A friend encouraged me to start a blog after one too many snarky Facebook posts and I took her suggestion. We live in a very historic part of Massachusetts and I started writing about it. The local newspaper offered me a chance to write news and feature articles based on nothing, but the fact that I was a recent arrival and might have a fresh perspective on things. At the time I knew nothing about journalism other than how to get unlimited and free New York Times articles. 

For the past five years I’ve written for the Carlisle Mosquito, but never quite getting to the point that I stopped looking behind me whenever someone said, “The press is here.” What’s next? Well, I’ve decided to experiment with writing for a different audience and for fun. I’m curious as to what kind of words come out when the stories are mine, the editing is mine, and the filter is gone. 

Writing is as painful as I remember and I can take procrastination to deeply satisfying levels when faced with a deadline. But it also gives me satisfaction like nothing else in the world ever has. 

It is the wind beneath my monkey.

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