One of my earliest writing endeavors, in first grade, was to write a book for my cat, so I could teach him to read. He caught on fast. I was proud of him.

My literary talents grew in leaps and bounds. By the fourth grade, I was published in a national magazine. Yep. No kidding. Junior Natural History Magazine. I wrote about my pet Dipodomys merriami, better known as a kangaroo rat. The rat was obtained from a colleague of my parents who was studying the plague or something else equally icky. He had combed the rat for fleas. He kept the fleas, and gave me the rat. Cutest little thing you ever saw. His name was Dippy.

So then I grew up, got a degree from the University of Southern California, and (some years later) a job teaching high school Biology in Stockton, California. Even then, I emphasized writing skills to my students. I made them do essay exams. No multiple choice in my classroom, by golly. It was at this time we moved to the foothills, and  I started the manuscript that years later became Murder in Gold Rush Country.  I wrote it on my Commodore 64. Now you know about how old I am.

After fourteen years as a high school science teacher, I was burned out. I made a huge career change, and became a web developer for the California State Legislature. I spent a few years taking care of State legislative websites. Then someone discovered I could write. Bingo, suddenly I was writing a technology five-year plan for a major data center, and other fine stuff.

After twelve years with the State, I retired. And now I can finally write full-time. Or half-time. Or no time at all, if I'm not in the mood.