I was born in the ‘60s.  I wore paisley, tie dye, bell bottoms, and peasant blouses the first time around.  I’m sorry to say everything is back, including brown polyester and mustard colored shirts.

I started writing stories when I was eight.  Scribbled pencil notes scraped by an eraser.  I wrote about my grandma and made my mother cry.  I mistook the tears as a negative critique and put my lined note paper away.

At twelve, I ventured out again.  I entered a contest in a magazine with an essay about America’s greatness.  Much to my shock and horror, I didn’t win.  So, again, I stopped.

In college, three teachers asked me if I considered writing as a career.  I equated it with journalism and didn’t want to be a reporter.   I seriously considered law school, but opted for accounting instead.  I got an MBA too.  My practical side overruled my creative side.

After marriage and two beautiful daughters, the itch to write returned.  I joined the whirlwind of manuscript submissions and rejection letters.  At last, All Hours Trading clicked and made me a published author.

My favorite things are music and reading.  I listen to Springsteen to Pavarotti to Gershwin to Motown and all the show tunes in between.  With books always on reserve, my library’s circulation staff knows me by name.  I try to limit myself to five books out at a time.

May the best of this year be the worst of the next.

Read excerpt from Mother Nature's ManRead excerpt from All Hours Trading