How did I become a writer?
There were two events that changed the flow of my life.
I grew up in the New York City suburbs, went to college at Bucknell University in Lewisburg, Pennsylvania. It was there that the first event occurred, in my sophomore year. I, a math major, discovered I was failing not one, but all three of my math classes. And worse yet, I had to declare a major the following week. My goal, at that point, was someday to be a college graduate. Not in math, though.
Instead, I thought, let me choose a major less exacting, a field of study which, not only allows creative conclusions but applauds them. All English majors understand. And so now, I have written 21 novels and about as many (that's a phrase you don't use in math) short stories. And not only do I not remember how to find a square root, I have no idea why anyone would want to.
But I still didn't see myself as a writer. So, I did what unfocused college graduates do, went to grad school. I got an M.A. in Teaching from the University of North Carolina. I loved Chapel Hill, hated teaching junior high.
And then I did social work in Baltimore, Upper Harlem and the South Bronx, and finally, Richmond, California.
Then the second event occurred, one evening shortly after I was married. I was reading a mystery by Agatha Christie and said to my husband, "I could do that."
"Well, you go ahead," said he. You can hear his tone, can't you? He never mentioned that boast of mine again. But bravado early in a marriage can reverberate long and loud, if you don't do something, and quickly. So I took paper to typewriter. That turned into a manuscript, but not one you'll ever see. Be thankful.
It was five years and five manuscripts later that Karma sold.
Since then, I've taught yoga, worked as a paralegal, and been part of the private investigative defense team in a capital murder case. I was a founding board member of Sisters in Crime, and subsequently president. And I'm living outside San Francisco, with the same husband.
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