“Well, I have these people in my head screaming to be let out,” but that sounds as if I am mentally disturbed (insert maniacal laughter here), which is not the case. So, let me ask you, do you plan what to say when someone is talking to you? No. The response just comes out. That’s kind of the way it happens for me. However, if for some reason you want to know me personally (shudder), here we go.

I was born in New Jersey to an unloving family. My father battered my mother, and both my parents physically abused me. I learned early on that I needed to make myself as invisible as possible. I grew up shy, inhibited, afraid of bringing attention to myself but craving attention. Let’s just say it was pretty awful and leave it at that.

The forest was my shelter, and trees were my hiding place. I climbed them with enthusiasm, and they were welcoming. I never fell, having instinctively developed a three-point stance when climbing. Trees were safety. Perhaps that’s how the Ælfain trees evolved.

Books, too, became a refuge, especially science fiction. I loved Robert A. Heinlein and remain a fan. Anne MacCaffrey, Ray Bradbury, Isaac Asimov, I could escape into their worlds. Come to think of it, I still do.

My first writing success occurred early. When I was twelve, I submitted an essay to a contest on respecting the flag run by the American Legion. I was astonished when my name was called during a school assembly and mortified when they said I had to read the essay aloud. I was so embarrassed; even today, I refuse to read my work aloud. My reward was five dollars and a medal – which I still have (the medal, not the cash).

Being painfully shy impeded my schoolwork. As a freshman in high school, I earned a D in English and was assigned to the ‘slow learner’ class as a sophomore. Oddly enough, that saved me. My teacher noticed me writing poetry and asked if she could read it. From then on, when the eight other students were disruptive, she sent me to the library. She encouraged me to write for the school newspaper. At the end of the year, she was my advocate; she had me assigned to the college prep English class for my junior year.

Now for a confession. I am a college dropout. My first experience, as a physical education major, was a disaster that lasted less than two months. I had a breakdown and went home to recover. If suffering is required for writing, I’m in.

A year later, a brand new community college opened near where I lived, and my old high school adviser said I should apply. Oh, man, was that a great idea. I was a late bloomer, and wow, did I bloom. I wrote for the college newspaper and served on the editorial staff. Helped start the theater group, sang in the choir, and excelled in my classes. I even started a literary magazine and edited it for two years before I transferred to Dickinson College in Pennsylvania. It was at Dickinson that I met the man I would marry.

My luck had changed.

When my husband decided to pursue his PhD at Ohio State University, I decided to go to OSU for a master’s in English. When that didn’t go well, I went to work instead.

Work, camping, hiking, choirs and chorales where I was a soloist, the women’s movement (which I left when it became radicalized), it was like waiting for life to start. But when I got pregnant, everything changed again. The women’s movement at that time scorned motherhood, but it was wonderful. The hitch? My son had ADHD, which was not well-known or well-treated in those days. But in the course of learning more about it for him, I got interested in studying up on it got me into psychology. I return to school to get my Master’s degree in counseling.

Life moves on. I worked as a mental health counselor, raised two brilliant sons (I have the tests to prove it), probably pulled a million weeds, given that my love of trees eventually turned into an obsession with gardening. I have the same loving husband I started with and recently “retired” to the enchanted paradise of retirement in Costa Rica, where a local news service hired me to write a weekly garden column. Finally, someone was going to pay me for writing something other than reports! But novels? Where did my first novel come from?

Remember my brilliant sons? In 2000, my youngest son introduced me to an MMORPG (massive multi-player online role-playing game) called ‘Asheron’s Call.’ Swords and sorcerers, mages and archers. I quickly got hooked. An MMORPG allows you to play with people all over the world, and that was amazing. My main character (we called them ‘toons’) was Brillar. The name stuck.

When the game came to a close in 2016, I really missed it! Three years later, I sat down at the computer with Brillar and the game in mind and started typing. Twenty-four days and 91,000 words later, “Orb and Arrow: Exploration” was ready for editing and revision. What a wild ride!

But . . . I knew nothing about what should come next. Nothing about editing software, formatting, marketing, agents, Facebook pages for authors . . . I knew nothing. The novel languished on Amazon as I continued to write books two and three of the fantasy adventure series.

Then in 2020, I had an idea! Why not start a Facebook page for people in my position? There were pages devoted to writing a book, but nothing about what comes after the book is complete. Marketing for Indies was born on Facebook. It only accepts people who have finished a manuscript and need to know, “What’s next?” Suddenly, I had a reputation for assisting writers. As a result of interacting with other writers and people in the publishing industry, an editor at the traditional publishing house Pen It! Publications offered to publish (in print no less) all three books in the Orb and Arrow series, with at least two more novels to come.

Life is weirder than you ever expect.

So, there you have it, my bio in brief. If you want to know more (heaven forbid!), it would be my pleasure to chat with you. If you want to know less . . . too late!