About Me

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My literary taste runs the gamut from Shakespeare, Poe, and Austen, to Elizabeth Lowell, Toni Morrison, and Jo Nesbo. Though I often read tales that plumb the inner demons of tortured souls, I prefer to write lighter books that my readers can have fun with.

Growing up, my sister and I lived next door to three French girls, who were like sisters to us. It was our friendship that gave me the idea of writing a book series about a group of five girls, plus the wonderful time I spent in Santa Barbara in my 20s.

Set in Santa Barbara, the Cota Club books tell the stories of each of the five friends and reflect the genres that fit each of the characters. That’s why Kristi’s story in Love and Money is a mystery, whereas Carla’s story in The Offering is romantic suspense. Tate’s story in Love and Hate is a thriller. I don’t know yet about Izzy’s, but Gwen’s will turn to the world of the supernatural.

The Heart is a Lonely Hunter

Carson McCullers blew my mind with her 1st novel, published in 1940. You can read my review at:The Heart is a Lonely Hunter. For a taste, here is the 2nd to last paragraph of the novel:

“The silence in the room was deep as the night itself. Biff stood transfixed, lost in his meditations. Then suddenly he felt a quickening in him. His heart turned and he leaned his back against the counter for support. For in a swift radiance of illumination he saw a glimpse of human struggle and of valor. Of the endless fluid passage of humanity through endless time. And of those who labor and of those who-one word-love. His soul expanded. But for a moment only. For in him he felt a warning, a shaft of terror. Between the two worlds he was suspended. He saw that he was looking at his own face in the counter glass before him. Sweat glistened on his temples and his face was contorted. One eye was opened wider than the other. The left eye delved narrowly into the past while the right gazed wide and affrighted into a future of blackness, error, and ruin. And he was suspended between radiance and darkness. Between bitter irony and faith. Sharply he turned away. “(358-9)