Writers are liars. I don't remember who said that but it's not true. In writing fiction, you dig deep and unearth portions of your own life that you've long forgotten or had purposely buried deep. Granted, sometimes it is smarter to change the ending. That being said, let me add, this photo is a lie. I haven't looked like this for a while. But it is me.
I grew up reading and writing. My first published work was a pamphlet for the University of Houston entitled Between Your Navel And Your Knees. I'll leave to figure out the subject matter.
I love story-telling. My imaginary friends have rich, larger-than-life lives encompassed in a few hundred pages with definite beginnings, snappy middles, and above all, happy endings. My personal life is never as clearly defined. Beginnings are hard to locate. A new job, a school term, a family event like a death or a wedding might signal the start of something new, but it’s never heralded with any fanfare other than another link in the chain.
I live in the beautiful, green, and very wet, Northwest, married to a Chef whose mantra is: life is a science project. As a result there are chickens and turkeys in my backyard, a fabulous vegetable garden which also grows tobacco for an insecticide and a hot meal on the table every night. For those of you who have longed for this, let me caution you. The old adage is true. Be careful what you wish for, when the gods are truly angry, they grant us our wishes.
And the payment is always high, I fight an insidious ten pounds every year of my life. I can’t tell you when I fell in love with my husband, but I relate the moment I decided to marry him. I was in the bath. It was a big tub. I expected him to join me and when he was delayed, I called out, “Are you coming?”
His answer convinced me he was Mr. Right. “Yes, but I’m making hors d’oeuvres.” Can you imagine spending the rest of your life without a man like that?
Like all marriages, we’ve had our ups and downs, more good times than bad. Most recently we have spent fourteen nail-biting months living in an apartment while our house was rebuilt from a house-fire. In the process, I have acquired an in-depth knowledge of kitchen cabinets, bathroom plumbing fixtures and leaking roofs. If this writing thing doesn’t work out, I plan to investigate becoming a contractor who specializes in on-time, under-budget remodels. Believe me there is a fortune to be made by the builder who can deliver on his promises.
My stories are about pretty men and strong women, about families that don’t always work and about the joy of finding love and the difficulty of making it stay.
I grew up reading and writing. My first published work was a pamphlet for the University of Houston entitled Between Your Navel And Your Knees. I'll leave to figure out the subject matter.
I love story-telling. My imaginary friends have rich, larger-than-life lives encompassed in a few hundred pages with definite beginnings, snappy middles, and above all, happy endings. My personal life is never as clearly defined. Beginnings are hard to locate. A new job, a school term, a family event like a death or a wedding might signal the start of something new, but it’s never heralded with any fanfare other than another link in the chain.
I live in the beautiful, green, and very wet, Northwest, married to a Chef whose mantra is: life is a science project. As a result there are chickens and turkeys in my backyard, a fabulous vegetable garden which also grows tobacco for an insecticide and a hot meal on the table every night. For those of you who have longed for this, let me caution you. The old adage is true. Be careful what you wish for, when the gods are truly angry, they grant us our wishes.
And the payment is always high, I fight an insidious ten pounds every year of my life. I can’t tell you when I fell in love with my husband, but I relate the moment I decided to marry him. I was in the bath. It was a big tub. I expected him to join me and when he was delayed, I called out, “Are you coming?”
His answer convinced me he was Mr. Right. “Yes, but I’m making hors d’oeuvres.” Can you imagine spending the rest of your life without a man like that?
Like all marriages, we’ve had our ups and downs, more good times than bad. Most recently we have spent fourteen nail-biting months living in an apartment while our house was rebuilt from a house-fire. In the process, I have acquired an in-depth knowledge of kitchen cabinets, bathroom plumbing fixtures and leaking roofs. If this writing thing doesn’t work out, I plan to investigate becoming a contractor who specializes in on-time, under-budget remodels. Believe me there is a fortune to be made by the builder who can deliver on his promises.
My stories are about pretty men and strong women, about families that don’t always work and about the joy of finding love and the difficulty of making it stay.