Some authors have another world living in their head. I have a universe.
These range from contemporary romances, like One More Day, to flights of fancy, like Black and White. I dwell in urban fantasies where djinni and undines mingle with earth elementals called humans, then move to ancient times where Roman-like citizens learn they are the bastard children of gods. From princess gladiators to science fiction corporate monarchies, I wallow in them all.
To me, they are all important. I love strong female characters. Not “men with boobs” but real women, with real women’s issues, who do real girly things (uh, whatever that is). I write about ladies who kick ass and ladies who get their asses kicked. I write about winners and losers, brave people and cowards. My beta readers never know what will hit them next. Sometimes they are good guys, and sometimes they aren’t. It doesn’t matter. All that matters is the way a story makes you feel when you reach the last line.
And I love them all. From Riley to Khellian, my characters take on a life of their own, and I must help them tell the world their history. For a moment in time, they live in my head, and I have to be true to them.
I never thought I’d be an author. As a child I liked to draw. As a teen I loved music and dance. In college, I tried hard to do what I “should”, so studied biology. I worked with animals and people. I had jobs in offices and at home. For the most part, I was never happy, until I started writing this stupid little story, just to get it out of my head.
And now, I can’t stop. I typically manage between 4k and 15k words a day (average is about 10k, unless I need to do research). I let the characters live, usually with a cat on my chest and a dog curled up at my feet, because this – telling their stories – is my job.