I’ve always had an active imagination that revolved around romance. I’m not sure if it was from the fairy tales I read, the television shows I watched, or the fact it is just something that is inherent in me. I was a voracious reader through school. But I wouldn’t read any sissy, skinny books. No- I picked the fattest books I could find in my school library. Those were books by Phyllis Whitney and Victoria Holt. Fat Gothic romances.
In the summer, when I didn’t get to town often, I rode my horse in the mountains and fantasized about an Indian riding bareback toward me, his long black hair floating behind him, revealing a broad, bronze chest, rippling muscles on his torso, and long legs gripping the horse. We’d stare at one another and without speaking he’d lead my horse up the mountain to a secluded meadow—
Yep, as a teenager, I had a very vivid romantic bent. ;)
As a new mother, I read mysteries, with a romance thrown in the mix here and there. Then one day I picked up a LaVyrle Spencer novel. Her book “Hummingbird” took me on a whole new path of reading enjoyment and clenched the genre I wanted to write. I could write about the history I loved and conjure up people who could come to life not only for me but for readers. I could make characters love and hurt and love again. And always, always have a happy ending. After all, what is life if you can’t imagine a happy ending in your future?