I can't remember a time when I wasn't scribbling away and playing with words. I wrote my first novel at the age of thirteen. I gladly exchanged the bulk of my sunny days that summer for afternoons spent on the back porch at a make-shift desk, surrounded by pens, pencils and paper. There I marveled as I watched the little character I had created take shape and come to life. That was my first foray into writing, certainly not to be my last. Through times of great joy and times of confusion writing has always been my solace. It is the one thing I return to over and over again. I only truly understand how I feel about something once the words have pushed themselves down through my fingertips and out onto the page.How are my stories born? The words, colors, smells, family legends, people, places and things of my past provide the fertile soil for a small seed of an idea to take up root and blossom. They present themselves to me when they are ready, when they have lain in the soil and soaked up all that they need. Once they come to me and beg to be written, to be set free, it is only then that I recognize the work that's been going on behind the scenes. Sometimes for many years. My first novel, 'Back to Austen,' landed in my lap in its completed form. A splashdown in my bathtub. Although It caught me by surprise, I realized I had been collecting bits and pieces of the story for years. My love of the Regency period was a natural place to start. I was at home when I sat down to tell Kate's story. 'The Bootlegger's Wife' came to me the same way. Seems much of my creativity resides in my bathtub. Just add water. But I was ready for it this time. When it showed up, I just nodded knowingly and said. "Of course. It had been there all the time."