Who am I? What am I? And why am I in this handbasket that has char marks from picking up speed?
Good questions. VERY good questions.
I figured if we’re going to write for fans, I’m going to need to introduce myself. Eventually parts of this might appear in my own page.
I was born in Portugal by accident. There was a massive cockup in the stork’s general distribution office, and I was delivered in the wrong place, at the wrong time, to the wrong parents. We’re fairly sure of this. And by “we” I mean myself and everyone who has ever had any substantial contact with me including — and I want to emphasize this — my parents. I mean, they love me (well, they say they do, and I have no reason to doubt it) but I think the most common expression on their faces when dealing with me is this sort of puzzled confusion like “Where did THIS come from.”
I also want to point out I have no clue where I was supposed to go. I mean, are there people out there who deserved to be punished with a Very Special delivery? Sure. But I’m not bad in that way. Just… confusing.
Kate Paulk told me long ago she thinks I should have gone to Australia. Mostly because I have a tendency to be refractory, and also, possibly, because I like Vegemite. (Wanna make something of it, buddy?)
However, by the time I was eight, I knew exactly what and where I wanted to be when I grew up. I was going to be a writer, and live in Denver.
As a fan told me, recently, achievement unlocked.
By fourteen I knew exactly how I wanted to be a writer and live in Denver. I was going to marry Dan Holtz, a mathematician and also an astronaut (look, I was 14. We’re just lucky he wasn’t also a Pirate and a secret prince, okay?) and live in Denver and be a writer.
To expedite things along I wrote Dan Holtz into various novels. The weird thing is how much he resembles my husband, even if I got the name somewhat wrong. (HOYT? What kind of a name is THAT?)
In retrospect, I should have written us as millionaires, but I was fourteen.
I met Dan on his eighteenth birthday. I’d post the picture here, but he might kill me. We were such INCREDIBLE dorks.
It took us another four years to realize we didn’t hate each other and decide to get married. Along the way we almore married other people. (What were we thinking?)
We’ve been married for 34 years. I’ve been a writer for 20 of those (well, professionally published. I was a writer before.) And we’ve lived in Denver for four. But we lived close to Denver for 28 years before that. Close enough to spend a lot of time there and be regulars at Pete’s kitchen on Colfax.
What do I write? Well, today husband told people I don’t write porn or children’s books, but pretty much everything else. He’s not wholly wrong, at least if you go by what I’m working on right now.
Two major awards — Prometheus and Dragon — a bunch of
huns er fans and I picked 2020 to start rebuilding my writing after several health/life events knocked me on my can.
Which tells you how much sense of timing I have.
I REALLY should have written us as millionaires…
Anyway, right now I’m trying to do a lot of house renovation, taking advantage of having younger son nearby. Just in case he moves far away.
I’m also trying to write. I have two space operas almost finished (TBH since early in the year) the fourth Dyce Dare mystery underway and… other stuff.
I’ll introduce you to the insanity that is inside my head here, little by little.
When I’m not writing, either fiction or non-fic opinion, I usually can be found doing unspeakable things to innocent furniture, attempting to garden (So bad at it it’s not even funny) and/or experimenting with cooking (lately playing with sous vide and air fryers. Also trying to make “stew” and soup dehydrated kits for the winter.) Or doing art. Or sewing. Eventually all this will be inflicted on you here, I suspect. (I’m sorry.) Probably jumbled with my less than sane obsessions. (I LIKE crazy “pre-history” theories. I mean, like the pyramids are really spaceships crazy. I tend to go find them when depressed.) I apologize in advance.
And meanwhile will no one tell me why this basket is on fire? Or on greased tracks?