I can’t remember a time when I didn’t read. As a kid, I visited the bookmobile that rolled into the cabana club parking lot down the street twice a week. I was afraid of the driver, a large hulking man with bushy brows and a permanent scowl, but I still loaded up my Radio Flyer wagon with the maximum number of books allowed per visit.

I read at the dinner table until my father’s glare became too obvious to ignore.

I read under the sheets with a flashlight.

I read in the back seat of the family station wagon on long road trips.

I spent my teen years in a small town in the Central Valley reading and writing forgettable short stories. I went away to college and enrolled in a couple of fiction writing classes taught by a wiry, chain-smoking professor from NYC who reminded me of Robert De Niro with a ponytail.

I write humorous contemporary romance, and I’m a staffer at Romance University.

They say writing is a solitary occupation. But I never feel alone because I’m blessed with a terrific team of beta readers and critique partners who patiently slog through my drivel. I appreciate their brutal honesty and cherish their friendship.

The content of this blog reflects my interests, observations and obsessions. Please feel free to join in the conversation.


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