If you'd asked me as a child, when I was running around in the woods and reading every book I could find, if I wanted to be a writer, my head would tilt like a dog's when they don't quite grasp something. I wanted to be an astronaut or astronomer, the latter being more within my reach. It sat in the back of my thoughts, stewing. 

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By 3rd grade, I read at a 6th-grade level, which gave Mrs. Losey quite the challenge. She gave me awesome guidance. By comparison, High School was a drag. I hung out with two other geeks who, I wish to this day, I'd stayed in touch with. When all of the alligator shirts around us descended, we stood by each other, often hiding out in Drama Club with Mr. Mintz. My sigh of relief as college came could be heard for miles. 

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Now the Astronomy started unpacking. Making star shows was great fun with my teacher, Dr. Orgren (he looked like Abraham Lincoln). Sadly, my brain wasn't built for things like physics. So, I switched to an English major (how prophetic, right?). I cleverly got out of PT by taking chorus and chorale every semester. And then what?

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Went on the road doing children's photography, moved to Boston, met my future husband, and then moved back to WNY so both of us could care for ailing family members. That was a whirlwind. Our wedding, a haunted apartment, our first child, and just trying to figure out what life was going to be. He was in IT. I worked as an Administrative Assistant. Nothing to write home about.

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Over time, we cobbled together an odd assortment of friends, each with a magical viewpoint. We decided to create a little newsletter to share those ideas and welcome input from others. Over time, we managed to snag 100 readers, but that's pretty much where it stopped. Little did I know what kinds of mischief those newsletters would bring.

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One day, I discovered I had chicken pox (yes, really). So, I had a week to sit at home with nothing to do. For a Type-A personality, that was unacceptable. So, I pulled out all the editions and started splicing together a hearth-and-home type book on magic meant for everyday folk - simple, meaningful, functional. I figured, what the heck? (My mom always said, "you won't know if you never try," so I sent it in to Llewellyn on a whim and didn't think much of it until about 2 months later, when I got a letter. They were interested in the book and wanted to discuss a perspective: the Victorian Era. At first I wasn't thrilled with the focus, but eventually fell in love. That discussion led to the publication of The Victorian Grimoire. 

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The running joke was that I was apparently "itching" to write. Let the pun-ishment begin.

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Fast forward. Llewellyn picked up six more books, and the book signings began at sales conventions. After that, going to events. Travel was glorious. I've met so many kind, wise, and wonderful people. It's a blessing. But being away from home twice a month wears on a gal. I took a "time out" when my children were teens, and I needed to sleep on my own sheets (my pillow suffered separation anxiety).

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Ghostwriting for the internet became the new theme and focus during those years, which slipped by so quickly. Got plenty of mind candy, but it just wasn't the same. The process of starting on page one, going chapter to chapter, and stopping when the book said, "all's good." Yes, books do talk. Just ask them!

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Finally, I worked up the courage to try again. Cooking with the Kitchen Witch became the 30th+ anniversary celebration of the Kitchen Witch's Cookbook-the tome that kicked off the Kitchen Witch movement with flavor, flair, and fun. 

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So ... here I am. Writing books. Still ghostwriting. And I cannot imagine my life without crafting words. A writer is not what I do. It is who I am. 

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