I’ve had mystical experiences since I was five years old. My oldest friend remembers me telling stories then, but I didn’t decide to be a writer until I was ten. That was when I discovered not all authors were dead. Then I grew up and managed what every aspiring writer longs for–I became an accountant.
But accounting was good for me. It balanced my “woo” and helped me count every penny in terms of how much writing time it could buy me. And so I shared a flat and lived in a garret and wrote my first novel. When it made a splash, I quit accounting and didn’t look back.
The secret of my work is that, however far apart in place or time, my characters are always teaching me what I need to learn. I’ve been scarred by trauma. So have they. Whether a female fighter pilot in WW2 or a present day mom with DID, a 19th century midwife with a touch of magic or a 21st century doctor caring for a difficult elderly mother, they use their experience to bring others out of darkness. They find courage in friendship, making their lives anew and encountering moments of pure light. They’ve even given me the courage to go on TikTok!
I’m not good at knitting or sewing yet do both. I can’t cook and don’t. I love to walk and take photos of tucked away alleys. I speak–shyly–about my spiritual experiences. When I started writing my first novel, I was a young woman and had no family. I’ve got grey hair now, a husband who cooks, and two grown daughters. There’s another book in the works because my characters aren’t done reaching through me to others. That’s the beauty of stories. They’re mine and yours and theirs, something new each time.