Born a Texan and raised a little Marine, I knew from a very early age that I was destined for the arts. Kids have vivid imaginations. By the time I was four, I had a bankable imagination. I was a performer evidenced by the time I told my mother all about a visit by one of "Santa's helpers" named Harold.

Maybe it was my attention to detail. Maybe it was my animated delivery. More than likely it was the fact that it wasn't Christmas. Whatever the reason, by the time I finished the story, my mother was on the phone to the military police. Riding the crest of my first encore performance, I also persuaded the authorities. Despite an APB, "Harold" was never apprehended. We were, however, transferred shortly after that. Whoops.

With age came timidity. Too shy to act, too off-key to sing and nowhere near as artistic as my brothers, I found my creative niche at the keyboard of a toy typewriter. By age eleven, I’d penned my first novel.

Blame puberty. Blame the military for my subsequent insecurities. Blame Nancy Drew! For whatever reason, getting married while I was still young enough for 10 p.m. curfew seemed like a good idea. So did getting divorced seven years later.

Single and living in Los Angeles, decadence replaced innocence. After all, I had a lot of catching up to do. I wanted to experience all those wild and crazy things my friends had been telling me about.

Thankfully, I lived to tell about it.
Thankfully, I lived to write about it.
And, thankfully, common sense prevailed and I returned to Texas.

Within months, I met a charming, outgoing man who worked hard, played hard, and possessed a wicked sense of humor. Right away, he asked me to marry him and without hesitation, I said yes. We laughed our way through twenty-four years, five months, and twenty days. Even in the face of death, he kept smiling, gently chiding me that it was the only way he could think of to get out of the trip to Hawaii he’d promised.

He was my real life romance novel knight-in-shining-armor who exemplified dignity, strength, and honor. He was my best friend. He will forever remain my hero.

Anyone who’s lost a spouse goes through free-fall. You do crazy things for no apparent reason. I bought lots of high heels and cases of books from Ebay. As the reality of my loss settled in, I also did a lot of soul-searching. The old cliché, “Life’s too short,” kept punching holes in my over-abundance of self-pity and grief. I’d lost the love of my life, not my passion for life. There’s a difference.

My passion is writing and my inspiration is my late husband, a man who didn’t know the meaning of “I quit.”

I still live in North Central Texas with my geriatric dog and way too many geckos who dig air conditioning. My free time is spent redecorating and, subsequently, cursing my addiction to "Trading Spaces." I also selfishly, shamelessly champion research in hopes of discovering irrefutable scientific evidence that Cheetos and chocolate are an integral part of a healthy diet. If they're not, I’m so screwed.

I'm a member of The Writers' League of Texas, Sisters in Crime, Romance Writers of America, Dallas Area Romance Authors, and RWA Chapter #14 - Kiss of Death.

You can write to me c/o webmaster.djreilly@yahoo.com