I started writing fiction at age seven. My parents had a cream-colored computer with a screen bigger than I was. You know the type: unattractive dust magnets that required a desk the size of a dining-room table to accommodate their angular mass. I sat down one night, without any clear goal in mind, and wrote a heartwarming story about two sisters finding the perfect gift. I wrote it in multiple points of view and in all three persons.
Stories often present themselves to me in this fashion. I've learned to tame them a bit before tossing them to the public.
At thirteen I picked up The Song of Albion by Stephen Lawhead, and my imagination cracked wide open. Every story I've written since–except for one about a taxi careening through New Jersey traffic (I still haven't been to New Jersey)–has been teeming with swords and tattooed warriors and visits to other worlds. I've become the sort of writer who acts out fight scenes. I've broken digits sparring with practice swords (you should see the other guy).
At sixteen, I wrote the first draft of Fear the Hunted. I finished it in two years, put it in my closet because I didn't like it very much, and started the next story.
After high school, I got married, moved from Nevada to California and for several years was self-employed as a medical transcriptionist. I wrote other peoples' stories–or rather, documents–letting my own stories languish. In 2006, I chanced upon a group of writers online who reminded me what I was missing, and I began writing fiction again. I wrote a story, and then another. And then three more.
My husband and I moved to Wisconsin in 2008 and I continued to write my own stories. I hope you enjoy them.