First I was born. Yeah, yeah. That's re-stating the obvious, right? But I write science fiction and from that point of view, I could have been hatched, genetically engineered, or teleported here from another world or dimension. And in any case, technically speaking, I'm a clone. Okay, an identical twin, the elder by five minutes. I'm told that's me on the right, but I couldn't swear to it. I was only four.

That's Champion Quibbletown Cinderella U.D., our Great Pyrenees, between us.

Recent photograph below.

I'm a native Southern Californian, born in San Bernardino sometime during the 20th Century. (The actual date is classified, eyes only.) Attended an assortment of schools, then was moved involuntarily to Port Angeles, Washington starting with 9th grade. It was green, wet, and cold. And no swimming pool in our back yard. I was shattered.

But I adapted. Attended the University of Washington (Go Huskies!) in Seattle, departing with a B.A. degree in English and no idea what I wanted to do with myself for the next 40+ years. Given that I disliked dealing with the public and knew how to type thanks to taking typing class in high school (always useful for an English major and hopeful writer), I turned secretary until I figured out what I wanted.

Then I found myself watching "CHiPs" more for the sunshine and palm trees than the male pulchritude. I knew it was time to return to California.

Fortunately, about that time my sister married someone who had a sister working in Los Angeles. She invited me down and I accepted with alacrity. I arrived at LAX with my possessions in an assortment of boxes and suitcases, the sheer volume of which stunned my hostess. Being a truly wonderful person, and recognizing just how shell-shocked I was by Los Angeles, she waited two years to tell me she'd invited me down for a visit.

Then I got my big break (after working very hard for it), and the Hollywood career began. Please see the Advice page for the how.

I was there for the riots, for the Whittier and the Big Bear/Landers quakes, and while in true SoCal fashion I was able to guess the magnitude with pretty fair accuracy, I began to realize that I was no longer excited by the earth moving. Not when I was by myself, anyway.

So I escaped, just ahead of the Northridge quake. Did I mention I left Seattle a bare two months before Mt. St. Helens blew? There are those who've told me I don't dare leave Arizona for who knows what disaster would happen then.

Now I'm enjoying saguaros in lieu of palm trees with my sunshine, the rent is cheaper, and the ground is somewhat more likely to stay in one place when I'm alone, for all I'm technically in the same earthquake probability zone as L.A.

It's a pretty darn nifty life. Okay, truth is it wildly exceeds the dreams I had as a kid and I'm still awed and thrilled by it. I consider myself the luckiest of the lucky: I not only love what I do, but I'm able to make a living at it.

Wondering how I've changed since age four?