I’m a writer, poet, and general miscreant living in Southern California. Luckily, I’m married to an extremely talented fellow writer who understands that my sudden pauses mean a plot point just clarified itself, or a character is talking to me, and steers me away from open stairwells. Together we are servants to two large dogs.

Legend holds I was raised by martini-swilling coyotes in the wastelands of the Mojave Desert. What I do know is that like most writers, I’ve been writing as long as I’ve been reading. They say the first one’s free – my first publishing success was at age 11 when I had a poem included in a collection which has long since moldered into dust.

Also like most writers, I’ve bounced from one job to another, attempting to find something that not only paid well enough to keep a roof over my head, but also kept me entertained. I’ve worked as an astrologer, a baker, a bookkeeper, a children’s advocate, a copywriter, a house painter, an innkeeper, a jewelry maker, a magazine editor, a network engineer, a personal assistant, a project manager, an OR tech, a systems administrator, a taxi dancer, a technical writer, and a web designer.

Yes, that was in alphabetical order, and those are just the jobs I can remember. No, none of them were as fun as playing with stories. Not even the taxi dancing.

Clearly, I’ve had no choice but to keep writing.

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