When I was sixteen, I discovered my grandmother's historical romances. At first I would just sit on the bed, spread them all around me and gaze at their lovely covers. And then one day I read one. I fell in love.
Sweeping love stories that made me laugh, cry, and fall in love again and again. Woodiwiss, Rogers, and eventually Garwood. I quickly became a romance book addict and never looked back. Isn't it wonderful? That tiny adreline surge upon walking into a bookstore and smelling all those books. And Library Book Sales . . . my heart slammed so hard inside my chest the first time I ever went to one of those--I worried I would faint before I filled up my dollar bag. Easily amused, I am. And cheaply, too. Isn't my husband lucky!
I continue to love reading and writing romance in much the same fashion as I did when I first discovered the genre--unabashedly, without guilt, and always ready for more. However, the difference came in October of 2006, when I received a phone call, a precious phone call, wherein the lovely person on the other line told me they wanted to buy my manuscript. Was I stunned? You have no idea. I never, ever, thought it would happen. It was something I daydreamed about all the time, so when it came, it felt like an extension of one of my dreams. And yeah, I'm still pinching myself.
