I’m going to keep this short and sweet, because if I don’t, there’ll be eight pages on things like why I hated kindergarten and the time my eighth-grade science teacher caught me with “erotic material” at school. And we should probably leave that incident in 1988 where it belongs.
Speaking of junior high, that’s when I started reading romance novels. I would save up my allowance to buy them (and on one memorable, never to be repeated occasion, got caught stealing one). My mother was displeased with this; aside from the petty theft, she felt they were beyond my maturity level, and she was probably right. She asked me (and I give her credit for asking instead of demanding) to stop reading them. When I asked her what she’d like me to read instead, she said, “Oh, something like those Judy Blume books would be fine”. Then I brought home Forever and Wifey, and she threw up her hands and said “Read whatever you want.”
Reading led to ideas. Pictures in my head of how I wished a certain book had ended, or how it would’ve been different if the hero had done X instead of Y. When the stories in my head started to edge out the ones I was reading, I decided to start writing them down, and my first book was published in 2004.
I live in the Pacific Northwest with my husband, and our daughter. My husband is former Special Forces and an OR nurse, so he gets pressed into service as In-House-Expert for anything related to weapons, tactics, the military, medical issues, and How Dudes Think. Our daughter seems to take after her father. God help us all.
And that, in short, is me. There’s a lot more I could’ve told you, but that’d take up a lot more room on this page. And besides, a girl should maintain some mystery, don’t you think?