This all started when I was about nine years old, the day I saw an old steamer trunk that had beached itself on a bit of marshy island in the middle of the Fenton millpond stream. The result was my first attempt at writing fiction, a short tale about that old trunk.
My high school guidance counselor assured me that I could not do work related to the things I scored high in on the SATs, because I didn’t take the right classes. I spent my entire work history doing all those 'could not' things: typist-clerk for Library of Michigan and Michigan State Police, nurse/OB technician, medical programs representative. During those 'impossibe' adventures, I continued to write on the side--the side of napkins, envelopes, hosiery cards, and whatever other sort of open space was available. I’ve enjoyed creating several novels and half a dozen or more screenplays and am adapting books to scripts and vice versa.
Now I’m a mother of three, grandmother of eight, and house servant to a half Aussie/half Pittie named Minnesota. I like nice people and love animals--even some of the two-legged ones--and especially live for the day when everyone respects the human dignity of everyone else. In the meantime, I write fiction where, to extent, I can make that happen now.