I know that usually these pages begin with “I always wanted to be a writer” but mine doesn’t. Mine starts with something authors are far less likely to admit to. Back in school, I was awkward as hell. You know everything that was not cool? Yeah, that was me. I read fantasy and sci-fi (try explaining the old “Princess of Mars” cover to boys in 5th grade), I played video games, I loved math and science (and history and English and…) and I was TRAGICALLY bad at sports. Except for fencing. Did I mention I was a fencer? Because I didn’t stand out enough before that. For the greater part of my life I’ve felt completely uncool and uncomfortable in my own skin. The one place I did feel totally comfortable was in the rich fantasy world I’d built up in my mind.

The one where I was secretly a lost fae princess and a badass who would end up saving all my ungrateful classmates. Oh yeah, that would show them.

Thankfully, I met a boy who was just as odd as I was. Phineas was tall, pale, and handsome with his black eye liner, spiky hair, and out there clothing. He played D&D, read sci-fi/fantasy, listened to the metal, and could quote Star Wars better than anyone else I knew. It was love at first sight. He really is the other half of my soul. The Wolowitz to my Bernadette. My sun and stars. He’s always been there to encourage all my hair brain schemes. In May of 2007 we made it legal. Then in September of 2010 we we welcomed our beautiful baby girl Genevieve into our little abnormal family, much to the chagrin of our demonic cat Shadow.

It was while I was on maternity leave, recovering from an emergency c-section and getting no sleep, that I realized that all my day dreaming and the voices in my head weren’t a symptom of insanity but something much, much worse. I was an author. It wasn’t like a light bulb, it was more of a “are you kidding me? This book isn’t even edited and the author made how much money? I could write circles around this piece of shit.” So I did. Well, at least I tried. Of course, it was like leaving food out for a stray. Now I can’t get the voices to shut it. They all want their stories told.

I’m still not sure I’m totally comfortable in my skin, but at least now I’ve come to terms with who I am.

Because really, I’m just Ginny.

Did that sound like the intro to a sitcom? Because that’s totally what I was going for.

We currently live in New Hampshire with my father, his two cats, my sister, her boyfriend, a partridge and a pear tree. It’s insanity, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. Somehow, Genny rules the roost. I pretend I have veto power, but everyone undermines my authority the second I turn my back. Sometimes it doesn’t even take that long.

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