When I was a kid I lived on the Nebraska prairie. I had three little brothers and a beautiful horse named Cleo. Cleo was a pure black Arabian with a white star in the middle of her forehead. My horse and I spent a lot of time together, escaping from my brothers. She didn't say much, of course, but she could run like the wind.

Now I live on a prairie (sort of) in Northern California, I still ride a beautiful horse, though now it’s a red horse, and I still have three little brothers, though now they're all bigger than I am.

In between Nebraska-time and Northern California-time, I married one husband, had two boys, and went to three colleges. I earned a master’s degree in history and education and landed the best job in the world – being a teacher.

We lived in West Los Angeles for almost 40 years. My husband taught at Beverly Hills High School. I taught grades 1-4 in Los Angeles and loved every single year – well, maybe not the first year, when I was still figuring things out. Our boys loved the usual kid things: soccer, water polo, trumpet, guitar, and piano lessons – well, maybe not the piano lessons.

Anyway, back to being a kid in Nebraska.
            Since I had a horse, I decided to be a jockey and ride real race horses. That didn't work out.
            Since I loved being in the library with all those books, I decided to be a librarian. That didn't work out either.
            Since I snooped around a lot, I decided to be an archaeologist. That DID work out, but not the way I expected.

I'm a nonfiction writer, which means I dig up the truth. It's not exactly like digging up old bones and pieces of pottery, but it's close. I travel all over the world, snoop around like a detective, find old newspapers and photographs, read old letters and diaries, dig up the facts. Then I put those facts in the biographies I write.