I’m lucky. I come from a family of diehard scientists—the kind who tell jokes about irrational numbers and use the Vulcan salute instead of waving goodbye. But there was always room in our house for the arts too. My sisters—one a conservation biologist, the other an astrophysicist—paint and play the flute. My father, a physicist, is also a movie buff. My mother, a mathematician, dabbles in everything from theater to stained glass. Me, I’m an infection prevention nurse. But first and foremost I’m a writer. Even when my pen is still, my mind is aflight with stories.
I’m lucky. I come from a family of readers. Books filled our shelves and trips to the library were routine. Even though I struggled with dyslexia and was slow to learn, my parents insisted I not give up. Now, I don’t read fast but I read often and wide—fantasy, scifi, paranormal romance, YA, literary, and of course, historical fiction.
I’m lucky. I married a man of great character and enduring flexibility. When I told him at thirty I wanted to quit my job and try to be a author, he said go for it. When I’d gone five years without selling a book or finding an agent, he said try a little longer.
My husband and I live in Las Vegas, NV with our pet turtle, Lenore.