When I was growing up I, unlike most of the other middle-class girls in my neighborhood, did not want to be a princess. Nope. Not me. I never wanted to be a police officer, a fire fighter or a football player either — of course those were the common aspirations of most of the boys I knew, not the girls. I suppose I flirted with the idea of being a model … but that was when I was a teenager and figured since I had had a few token runs at walking the short — the very short — catwalk for local retailers and charities alike, that I would also make it big in Milan. Alas, the Ford agency never called. Continue reading
I wrote a book—well, actually, I’ve written a few books … but I’ve published one (I could diverge a little more here and tell you the status on the other said books, but I’m trying to stay on topic so no wandering of the brain; yet) …
When The Caretakers first dropped the original cover was an older black and white photo. I liked the cover. I thought it depicted the environment the children were raised in and that their expressions had the kind of vagueness that would make onlookers want to know more. Alas, it was highly suggested by a number of people “in the know” that the cover be changed to something “more commercial.” Something that, “when placed next to other books of its genre would look appropriate.” Continue reading
It’s tough being a writer. Especially when it dictates your paycheck and not just your free time. Now I know, I know, there are people out there who think writers don’t do diddly … we sit around all day drinking coffee and chewing on pencils, reminiscing about the “good ol’ days” of longhand and pen-and-ink manuscripts … ah yes … those days. Strangely enough, when I write—although yes, I do punch away on a QUERTY board like most everyone else (unless they live in Zimbabwe, but as I have yet to meet any writers from Zimbabwe I can’t really speak to their creative means), I do still always have a pencil tucked up behind my ear. It’s an oddity, I suppose—but, it’s one of those things I do. It’s my version of a “thinking cap..” Wait. Am I dating myself here by admitting I like to write longhand? Nah, I mean it’s not like it’s a quill or anything. And no, I don’t have any slate around either. Continue reading
You know that moment in time when everything stops— well, not literally. Not like it did when Lois Lane fell down the crack in the Earth and Superman used his supersonic speed to fly around the globe and erase time. More like it does it when you have an ah ha moment … like a profound understanding for something you never understood before but now … NOW … it’s all clear. Continue reading
I was not a straight A student. But I wanted to be—well, sort of. To my parent’s dismay, my 2.90 high school GPA proved I didn’t actually want to be bad enough to be … but hey, I wasn’t much really the studious type. I wasn’t a stoner either, but although I never skipped class I also rarely brought a text book home with me. Fortunately though, I was an excellent test taker and my 1280 (or something like that) SAT score landed me an acceptance letter to the university I wanted to attend.
So a girl walks into a bathroom (I know, you thought I was going to say bar, didn’t you) … not a swanky powder room, but a restroom – you know, like in an office building that houses roughly 3,000 other people on any given day.Yea. One of those bathrooms. One with twelve stalls, six sinks, a couple of full length mirrors and, for some odd reason or another, a scale. Continue reading