It's All About the Story
I LOVE to read.
Romance, women's fiction, mystery, sci fi, history.
You name it, I'm a fan.
I'm a member
of Yosemite Romance
Writers, a local chapter
of Romance Writers of
America and a member of
the San Joaquin Chapter of
Sisters in Crime.
I write speculative fiction, a genre that includes mystery, tales of the supernaturaI, sci-fi and...ghost stories. A special interest of mine is Native America lore which is alive and well in the American Southwest, the location of the Sunset Canyon Series.
I also write cozy mysteries in a series titled The Nora Pigeon Mysteries. And am in the 'brainstorming at the coffee shop' stage of developing a time-bending love story, Time Seeker.
The worlds in those books were no more enchanting and exciting than the beauty and mystery of the desert around me. The one-room school house sitting proudly amongst Palo Verde trees and Saquaro cacti is still vivid when I recall time spent there. I can open the memory and read it like a beloved book, so indelibly written is it into mind - and spirit.
with David Binder
Central Valley Talk
Interview about Blood Stones
A memory-chapter I "read" often is about the cabin where we lived. From it could be seen a tall bluff that defined the course of the Agua Fria River. Old Indian, who lived with us, explained that an Indian burial ground was at the top of the bluff. He said we should never go there because it was sacred and protected by spirits.
Of course we did. We went there once. One time. My two brothers and I scrambled to the top of the cliff, and for two minutes it was just a small mesa dotted with cacti and mesquite brush. A jackrabbit burst from under its bushy shelter and birds flapped away at our intrusion. That was before everything went still - no breeze, no movement of any kind as the sun slipped behind a curtain of thin clouds, leaving the dim stage to our imagination.
That's what the adults said when we tried to explain what we felt and how, under a 110 degree desert sun, we were suddenly chilled to the bone before a dust devil kicked up dirt and pebbles and chased us off the mesa. And we heard voices....
We did. Didn't we? Mom said it was all in our heads. Old Indian said nothing. He let the hard stare he gave us speak loud and clear. He told us not to go. He said there were spirits. They were both right. There are spirits there, and the experience is still in my head. I can read it like a book.
I grew up on a small gold mine claim in Arizona where my dearest friends were dogs, goats,
my mom - and books.
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