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I’m the youngest of five (a brother and three sisters); an aunt to three nieces and three nephews; and grand-aunt (ye gods!) to two girls, two boys. I’d like to reiterate that I’m the youngest of five, so I get to be the young, cool aunt. Being the baby of the family is finally a good thing.
Like writing, music is essential to my sanity. I sing in a choir, with the family, in the shower, and while driving. I play bluegrass/folk acoustic guitar, largely self-taught. Back in high school/college, I taught myself five or six pieces on the piano, ranging from “Won’t You Come Home, Bill Bailey?” to “Fur Elise”, and mostly remember them still. Now, I’m starting to pick up a little mandolin.
I serve two cats. Pip the SweetieBaby, is a 12-year-old Maine Coon. Orange-and-white Taz is a seven-year-old roadside rescue. I named him after Tazhret, the hero’s alias in Forge because my godson delivered him from the highway and into my care when I was first drafting the story. And, like Keir, Taz was a lost and traumatized creature when he first came to live with me. He’s a fat cat now, and picks on Pip when he’s bored. I can give them both baths, without getting a scratch on me.
After many years of single life, I married the man with the kindest heart I’ve ever met. Our wedding united two tribes. Neither of us has to explain our family to the other. We just get it.
I love to travel, whether by road trip or air. So does my husband. We almost never unpack our bags. But the best thing about traveling is coming home and sleeping in our own bed.
I love my in-laws.Which makes me an exceedingly fortunate woman, given how many of them I have.
I also my love my numerous cousins. In almost any conversation, I find myself saying, “I have a cousin who...[insert cool/odd/fun fact here].” This also happens with siblings, but the cousins outnumber them.
My obscure contribution to pop culture: When I was little, one of my favorite colors was magenta. Except I thought it was pronounced “magneta.” I told my cousin Chrissy this story, and she told her sister, who was in rehearsals for a community theater production of Rocky Horror Picture Show in Oklahoma City. In their playbill, the character Magenta was spelled—on purpose—“Magneta.” (See how my conversation gets around to my cousins somehow or other?)
When I first drafted the scene in Forge where the Khevox capture an important supporting character, I had both bronchitis and pleurisy. I’d say my respiratory difficulties showed up in the story. Let’s just say I shared my misery.
My father will turn 92 on March 13th. He got a Kindle just so he could read Forge—the first science fiction he’s read since grade school: Lost on the Moon, by Roy Rockwood. He remembers the space ship had “carbide engines.” (Yes, my dad is an engineer. How did you know?) Happy early birthday, Dad!
~~~Forge blurb~~~Warned by a Seeing…The high king of the Scotian Realm expects the arrival of an enemy, a race of psychic predators bent on galactic conquest. The Realm’s one hope is alliance with the neighboring star domains in defense of a shared colony, Forge.
Caught in Fate’s grim weaving…Mindblind, amnesic, Tazhret lives out his drug-induced visions of servitude on Forge. He wants to believe the beautiful woman with the nut-brown hair who whispers reassurances to his harrowed heart: “You have a name.”But is she even real? Or just one bright thread in his dark dreams?
An unexpected hope…Tazhret’s destiny leads him to freedom and the woman he yearns for
—and to a desperate struggle against the enemy. Tazhret can save Forge, and the clan of his beloved. But only at the cost of all he has hoped for: his name, his freedom, and his love
for the woman with the nut-brown hair…
Keir, on the threshold of recovering his true name, meets the haunting woman of his dreams...
Floating in a soothing sea, he didn’t open his eyes until the door clicked.
A tall and slender woman strode into the room with the grace of a dancer, and [he] forgot to breathe. A tunic in Scotian healer’s gold fell past her slim hips, belted over black trousers with the four-stranded azure braid of a Water adept. She came to his bedside, a smile turning up the corners of her wide, wonderful lips, dimpling her cheeks, crinkling the corners of her eyes—her large, luminous eyes, glimmering with brighter sparks of topaz and emerald in the softer glow of dark amber. Her nut-brown hair fell to the clean line of her jaw, framing her bonny face. Her perfect nose sat slim and straight between exquisite cheekbones. Her dark, winging eyebrows arched above her beautiful eyes.
His heart pounded, and he stared, slack-jawed. She’s real. I didn’t really believe. But…oh, Trinity, she’s real.
“How do you feel?” she asked in a soft contralto; the same voice he had followed from his nightmare entombment.
[Keir] snapped his jaw shut. How did he feel? He didn’t even know. Too much had happened, too fast. And-and she was there. Right there. In front of him. Expecting an answer.
Closing his eyes, he considered the question, waiting for the familiar, desperate jangle of jagged pain along his nerves, of slow recovery from old exhaustion and long starvation. But they were silent, and in their place….[Keir] drew his first breath since she’d entered the room. “I feel…good, honored healer,” he said, “Hungry. Tired. But otherwise, really…really good.”
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