When I was a young girl my mother filled my life with books. I cannot remember the name of my first set, but the stories taught me many of life's most important lessons such as; the impact a smile can have on a lonely person and how not to judge a book by its cover. When I got a little older, twelve, perhaps, she introduced me to the Trixie Belden series. I was hooked. I still have have quite a few of them and it's fun to re-read those great little mysteries. I identified with Trixie because we were both twelve years old, and had short, curly blond hair. All I needed was a best friend named Honey.

Once I had read and re-read my books I needed more, so I begged my mother to let me read her True Detective magazines. She relented and I couldn't get enough.

I began writing as a way to document my life and to see how far I've come and how much I've grown. Once I began writing stories, however, I always managed to kill someone. Hmm... my sister always told me I was harboring too much anger. What a great way to get it all out.

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