I knew before I even started high school that I wanted to write novels, but back then, my idea of being a writer consisted largely of wearing berets and sitting in a bookstore surrounded by piles of my latest bestseller, with a line of people wrapped around the building waiting for signed copies. It never occurred to me that I would have to, you know, write books. Now, more than twenty years after seeing my first book in print… Well, I still try not to think about that, actually. I still prefer the adolescent fantasy. (And I still like to wear berets.)

I never really made a conscious decision to write romance, however. In fact, in college, I studied pretty heavy literature. I still bear the scars of a 600-level Dante class in particular, and I was never quite the same after that paper on Baudelaire. Nevertheless, I managed to graduate with honors in English and move directly onto studies for my master’s. Midway through that degree, though, it began to dawn on me that I was starting to loathe the written word. The only thing that saved me from succumbing was the twice-monthly arrival from Silhouette Books of my Desires and Intimate Moments.

Eventually, I abandoned my studies, but not my writing. And when I began to write seriously, what came out was pure romance. Mostly contemporary, but there have been a few projects with hints of magic and mayhem. I’ve been fortunate in seeing my books appear on a number of bestseller lists (including USA Today and one brief, breathtaking moment on the New York Times extended list) and in receiving Rita nominations from Romance Writers of America. And it’s been great fun to see my books translated into different languages and sold around the world.

Currently, I’m at work on novel number sixty (!), living in my gorgeous native Kentucky with my high school sweetheart husband and a pretty amazing son. When I’m not writing, I’m spending time with them, whether it’s doing something as mundane as watching “Bones” on TV or as exotic as grilling salmon kebabs in the snow.

You know, now that I think about it, I guess that reality thing isn’t such a bad gig, after all.

Happy Reading,
Elizabeth