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As I sit here, trying to put into words who I am, I can't help but think of hats. I know it's an old, time-worn cliche, but hats fit (no pun intended). Like everyone else, I wear many hats; daughter, sister, wife, mother ... teacher and student, philosopher, dreamer ... and now - officially - romance writer.
I began as a daughter, born in northern Maine, the last of five children. Over the years I picked up several new hats, each of them adding warmth and texture to my life. In 1977 I became a wife, in 1981 a mother (I liked it so much I did it again in 1984). And as each new hat was added, I found that I've became stronger, more comfortable with the fit, and happier.
I have no idea what compels me to write, I only know that I must. I have always spun stories in my head, even as a child. But something - who knows what lurks deep in our subconscious - sat me in front of a blank computer screen one day and made me put those stories into words.
I live in a log home on a lake in central Maine. I've been married for twenty-five years and have two remarkable sons.
We spend a lot of time outside. Heck, I often write outside (kudos to the inventor of laptops). When I feel the need to go to the mountains or the ocean (depending on what book I'm working on) my husband hooks up the camper, packs up his boat, and takes me there. He fishes - I write. He cooks - I write. He vacuums, does laundry, mows the lawn - I write. It's a very nice routine we've worked out, don't you think? He takes care of the details of life and I write . . .
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