For as long as I can remember I’ve been a voracious reader. I read the backs of cereal boxes at the breakfast table when I was a child. I knew the ingredient list on a box of toothpaste. Most nights I could be caught in bed immersed in the Little House books or Nancy Drew mysteries, only by the light of the hallway coming into my room. My mother said that’s probably why I needed glasses at sixteen. In junior high I wrote a lot of really bad, adolescent poetry--some of which I still have--and began to sprout the essence of a few story ideas that float, like tiny embryos yet to be gestated, around in my head to this day. In high school I read The Godfather--that became a lost three days. I was required to read Mutiny on the Bounty, and gobbled the book up at warp speed. Then I discovered romance novels, especially Sweet Savage Love by Rosemary Rogers. I was hooked.

Story ideas in my head materialized and swam around for decades, waiting for their turn to gestate. In the meantime I became an adult, dealt with life, married and birthed two amazing, real live children of my own. Having a family took up all of the space in my world. But still I continually read. Though my literary diet consisted of romance novels and little else.

In my forties I discovered other genres. The classics, contemporary novels (some destined to become classics in their own right), memoirs, mysteries, humor. I joined a friend’s book club, helped to create another that has been together for over a decade, and never could shake my desire to birth a story of my own.

My son and daughter have grown up and are forging their own lives, and now, finally, I have the time to explore my imagination. Through hard work and the support of other talented writers, I’m discovering the ability to gestate these babies floating in my head. My goal is to release them into the world, birthing real, live, coherent words that resonate. Hopefully my stories will speak to you.