I didn’t set out to be a writer (or do a green cemetery startup, for that matter). Funny how the two things that have most defined my life happened mostly by accident after years working as a … let’s see: racehorse hot-walker, motel maid, assembly-line worker, grease monkey, cleaning lady, day-care mom, soapmaker, cashier, woodworker, gardener ….
Then I got tired. Not tired of work, just tired of the grind. So I started writing.
The toughest part? Learning to type.
My first published credits—in Herb Quarterly, Fine Gardening, and The Growing Edge—were
mostly assuredly beginners luck. No way did I think I’d end up as a science and environment writer. I mean, my science background is an F in Bio 101. But that Growing Edgestory was about this Cornell University botanist who’d figured out how to start notoriously difficult-to-grow native lady’s-slippers from seed.
That was the beginning of my love affair with translating the marvelous and quirky science of life into stories the rest of us can understand. Now I spend all my spare time falling in love with a gazillion story ideas and feeling like a spinning top because I want to pitch them all and doing waaaay too much research—and now and then, selling some.