I passed a peripatetic childhood reading way too many books, and eventually writing my own little stories, either inspired by my life (such as it was) or by whatever I was reading at the time. I thought I would grow up to be an archaeologist which explains why I read The Last Days of Pompeii at the age of nine. I was fortunate to have a few teachers early on who encouraged my literary tendencies—including one who let me stay inside to read during recess.
When I discovered the Society for Creative Anachronism, a medieval recreation group, I delved more deeply into medieval history, becoming enthralled with the dark castles, bloodsports and social expectations of the period. I nearly went to Fordham University for Medieval Studies, but chose Stanford instead — then withdrew as soon as humanly possible (before I ever started, as a matter of fact).
By this time, my stories accumulated rejection slips faster than the DOW was rising, yet I continued to hope my writing would be the answer. I started work on a first novel during a summer writing workshop, and finally finished it some years later, while depending on the refuge of aspiring writers everywhere: working customer service and living with family.
A second novel, begun with a notebook full of world-building concepts and great ambitions, lies dormant in a file my computer can no longer read. But when I met Elisha Barber, I knew I was on to something. I have to thank a local workshop with Dan Brown (slightly before he became THE Dan Brown) for my approach to the new project.
Now I find that once I start reading history, science, sociology, I discover a dozen different stories hiding in the details.
I live quietly in New England with my family, where I have just found the right dog to defend the new apple trees from the local whitetail deer population.
