I grew up in a small town north of New York City. My father was a writer and some of my earliest memories are of hearing the tap, tap, tap of his typewriter keys and then peeking into his office to watch him at work.
   We had lots of books in our house and I loved to read. I also loved animals. I had all kinds of pets. Dogs and cats, birds, hamsters, rabbits, and even a goat. Back then I wanted to be a veterinarian or a zookeeper when I grew up. I never thought I’d become a writer.​

I became a writer because I fell in love with children’s books. It happened in college when I started re-reading some of the books I’d loved as a child. I moved on to newer books and before long I was hooked. I knew what I wanted to do with my life: I wanted to be a children’s book writer.
   After college I got a job in the public library and began writing my first book, a mystery for children. It was published when I was twenty-three. I still remember opening that box of newly-printed books, each with my name on the cover, and feeling blissfully happy!

I now live in Northern California, near San Francisco. My daughter, son-in-law, and grandsons live nearby. I have many friends who are children’s book writers and illustrators. We get together to read our manuscripts and give each other encouragement and support.
   People sometimes ask if it’s lonely being a writer. For me, the answer is no. My favorite room in the house is my office. I like working at my desk. And my little dog Mocha keeps me company. I’m so glad I became a writer. I really can’t imagine being anything else.​