Concert stage, dark except for a deep blue spotlight. Singer drops to one knee and his narration
evolves from murmur to rant. "This is the story of a man who got what he
wanted but he lost what he had. He got what he wanted but he lost what he had.
He got –"
It goes on forever. It's mesmerizing. Uncomfortable.
Pretty sure this memory is from the time I saw James Brown,
decades ago, but the lost identity of the singer isn't the point.
I've spent my life gazing across some fence or other,
admiring greener grass over yonder. I've acted on so many impulses to jump the
fence. No complaints, but it has sure taken me a long time to appreciate where
I'm standing right now. And nowadays that blue spotlight chant fills my head
whenever I contemplate a new jump.
Sometimes I jump back.
I was a low–budget television producer until I wrote a
psychological thriller, Was It A Rat I
Saw, which Bantam–Doubleday–Dell published in hardcover in 1992. Soon after
that I became the mother of twins, jumped into graduate school, and became a
disaster scientist. I dabbled in academia, government research, and consulting.
I stopped writing fiction for nearly two decades, until I
noticed how much I missed it. I resumed writing novels with the literary
fiction Scar Jewelry about a family
with secrets that start in the era of Los Angeles punk and persist for
decades; then began the speculative detective quartet FRAMES, with Nica of Los Angeles and Nica of the New Yorks. Also in progress is
a 9-novella, young adult paranormal horror romance, DDsE.
Funny. Back in the day, I had a single book idea at a time.
Now I'm flooded with them, can't keep up with them, though I write just about every
I live in southern California. I had to leave for five years
to confirm this is where I belong. I live with multiple cats, comfortably close
to my twins and granddaughter. Like my life paths, my friends and family are
all over the damn place. I like to visit them, spend time at the ocean, explore
cities, and go out to hear live music.