There’s a reason I write fiction and not memoirs. My life—while chaotic and wonderful—wouldn’t make a page turner. But for those who still want to know, here you go:

Writing has always been a part of me. Some girls played with Barbies or Polly Pocket, but I chose to write. Mostly about horses. And sometimes dynamite, though not in the same story. Now I write the types of books that are really hard to describe in a way that makes them sound interesting. When people ask me what they’re about, I always start with, “Well, it’s about this girl…” and then fumble around for awhile until their eyes glaze over. What many of my stories deal with is that moment when you realize things you were raised to believe in—God, goodness, peace—aren’t always embraced by the world around you. I remember when I discovered that not everybody believed in Jesus, or even a Creator, and having to figure out how my religious beliefs fit into the reality of my world. This happens in so many different ways that I’m constantly thinking of new tactics to explore this pivotal moment.

In regards to my actual life, I spent the first part of my childhood in California. Long enough to be influenced, to have roots there, but not long enough to really be “from” there. I did the bulk of my growing up in Kansas City. It’s where I went to high school, met my husband, and worked a few lousy jobs. Ben and I make our life here now, along with our baby girl, McKenna, and dog, K.C. They’re the most interesting things about me. Without them I’m just a TV junkie with a crazy thing for coffee, who would rather sit in front of my computer and write than go to a party.

Which is why I make stuff up.