Born and raised in southwest Missouri, I began writing stories in elementary school. My first full-length novel was punched out on a typewriter in my bedroom sometime during high school. It likely wasn’t a fantastic literary creation. A few years later, I had plenty of people tell me that my degree in English with an emphasis on Creative Writing would be useless. They were probably right. Added to my dual major in History, I became a perfect candidate for nearly every job on the planet. (Cough, cough.)
Still, I held on to the dream while I went through life’s ups and downs, and now I have a lot more real-life experience to color my stories than I had when I was a teenager. That’s definitely a good thing.
I write characters (or friends, as I like to think of them) as they’re given to me. Sometimes they do things I don’t see coming. Sometimes they make me angry. Sometimes they leave me in tears. Most of the time, their lives teach me lessons while I’m writing them. Occasionally they help me heal.
Where and when do I do this writing? When I have a spare minute, and anywhere I can. I’ve written from the back hatch of my SUV, in a lawn chair while at soccer practice, in the front seat of my car, with kids climbing on me, and often with extremely loud noise in the background. At least half of my books have been written during baseball games.
Above all, I’m grateful to God for allowing me to embark on this journey. For introducing me to readers who have become friends. For allowing me to reach into corners of the world I will probably never see. And I’m grateful to my husband and kids for putting up with me when “Mom’s writing again.”