When asked to describe myself, I always say the same thing. I’m your average Irish American woman. If pushed, I follow up with the fact I have one son that came through me and two kids that came to me. I also have five grandkids from them and two more children that have bestowed me with the title of Gammie. I’m blessed to say the least.
Somewhere down the road, I wanted to be able to remind my kids and grandkids that I was once cool; I’d even written a book and published it. I released Hot Tea on a lark. (Yes, I use words like that in real life.) Several months after publishing, I received an email. A woman explained she and her sister were very much like Cara and Teagan. She said she’d laughed her way through chemo and wanted to know when the next book would be out. She said she had more medical issues and needed a laugh. I cried. A lot. Then I started typing.
Hot Tea was more than two-dozen books ago. Since then people like editors, proofreaders, cover designers, and beta readers have entered the process; but the love of storytelling is still what drives me.
My mother used to say she’d rather give birth than visit the dentist. I feel the same way when trying to write about myself. It’s much easier for me to write about characters like Cara and Edna than myself, Sheila.
I’m not the type that bleeds over every word trying to write great literature. I don’t feel I have to write in order to breathe. To be brutally honest, I don’t consider myself a writer; I simply write down stories. Some are loosely based on my reality (I am one of eight kids born to Irish American parents, and although Cara’s mom is not my mother, they share a great deal of wisdom). Most of the stories in my books are straight from my imagination spurred by something I’ve witnessed or experienced.
I love stories and the sharing of them; it must be the Irish in me.
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