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I actually began my career as a photojournalist for Southern newspapers at the age of twelve. I came from a ‘newspapering’ family and so the environment felt extremely natural to me. ‘That girl’s got ink in her blood,’ I remember the back-shop printers at the George County Times (the weekly newspaper in my hometown) saying as I would stand on a bucket and help lock up the old pages of type set on a linotype machine.
Growing up in the small town of Lucedale, Mississippi, I found refuge in reading. The magic of the written word, particularly the strange and wonderful worlds of fiction, was rivalled only by my love of horses. If I could have had a chance to be a cowgirl, I might never have written a word. As it was, a typewriter was a lot easier to come by than a horse, especially since both of my parents were journalists!
Since I began to write seriously about fifteen years ago, I haven’t been able to read as much as I’d like. I’ve also become a much harder reader – I find that a writer has to really work to pull me into the story and out of my very demanding life. If I had one wish, it would be for more hours in each day, more time to read and write and to ride my horses. I’m not a cowgirl by any stretch of the imagination, but I do have three fabulous horses who give me tremendous pleasure. I mostly ride English and do a little backyard jumping, but lately I’ve started team penning. Once again, the problem is that the cows are smarter than I am! I just have to be careful when I fall to land on something soft and not my hands. Brain damage is unlikely, but I need my fingers to be able to write.
I live on a five-acre farm with my three horses, Miss Scrapiron, Mirage and Cogar; three dogs, Corky, Sweetie Pie and Maybelline; and five cats, Poe, Miss Vesta, Gumbo, Maggie, and Chester.
When Harry Met Sally