I’ve felt compelled to write since . . . well, since as long as I can remember. At six, I wrote my first novel. Actually, I laboriously typed it. Entitled The Black Hawk Girls, it was all of three pages. My mother saved the novel, and I have it packed away somewhere.

I never felt my calling to be part of that prestigious society of literati. My mom must have felt likewise about the nature of my calling. She gave me lessons in tap, sewing, ballet, violin, piano, organ, accordion, painting, etc. Nevertheless, I kept writing. When, as an adult, I moved to Mexico City, I dared to mail off an interview (with photos) I did with a secretary who worked for the American Embassy there. I rationalized that if the article were rejected, only my mailman would know. That article was my first sale for an astronomical $80.

That was almost thirty years ago, and I’m still writing. Not because it’s good money; a lot of the time it’s not. I write because I feel better for having written. I come most alive when I write. Bottom line, I’m compelled to write. It’s the curse and the gift with which I came into this life. So, I feel that my calling is simply that of a storyteller. But, oh, think of the magic we storytellers cast!"