Kristina Shelton is an American-born Author from Amherst, MA, born October 3rd, 1989. Kristina grew up in a small, quaint home at the top of a long winding hill, where the road was surrounded by walls of trees. She watched those trees through the window of her father’s pick-up truck, dreaming of stories beyond the forestry walls.
Her writing career started young. During middle school recess, while her friends played tag and climbed on the playground, Kristina sat in the grass and watched. But it was more than watching — she was envisioning stories all around her. Everyday, she watched and watched. Her parents, knowing her interest in stories, bought her a small, red-covered notebook. The next week at school, she began to not only watch, but write as well.
At Amherst High School, Kristina continued her writing for the school newspaper. She felt the joy of the class bell ringing, signaling it was time for English class, Eventually, before her Junior year, she started looking for opportunities outside of school to continue to learn her craft. She found a local newspaper that accepted short fiction stories. Though her first submission was not published — nor her second, third, or fourth attempts
After high school, Kristina attended college at Suffolk University, majoring in, none other, but English/Language Arts. Though she dabbled in some Journalism and Communications classes, she could not pry herself away from her fiction. At the dining hall, no matter the meal, she would sit with a mug of steaming coffee (plenty of sugar, plenty of cream) and scribble in her notebooks. Throughout the day, she continued to fill those notebooks with characters, events, and story-lines. Then, at night, after dinner with friends, she would head to the library to type the night away.
When the night of the announcement arrived, Krstina sat far back in the lecture hall. Her knees bounced, her arm pits sweated, and she had to pull her own hands away from her mouth to stop from biting her nails. When her name was called, she didn’t believe it. And then, she started to cry. She doesn’t remember walking down to accept her award, she could’ve floated for all she knew. But what she does remember is the joy in that moment and the giant hug she gave to the stranger (the head of the English department) who was waiting to congratulate her on the lecture hall floor.
Now, the author of two novels of fiction and a collection of poems she describes as “lessons in love,” Kristina still finds pure exuberance when she sits at her new Oak desk, ready to tell the world a new story. Next to her is a notebook, and a cup of steaming coffee (plenty of sugar, plenty of cream).