In all my years of reading, I have retained the ability to lose myself in the pages of a book, carried away to other lands, even other worlds. I can become a spy, an artist, a detective, anything the main character is... I am.

As an avid reader, the next logical step was to become a writer. I say logical, because I think most readers believe they have a book in them, just waiting to be put on paper. We see someone or something and we start wondering what story lies behind what we see. Then our minds begin to hum away... What if?

I talked about it for years, I even made a few starts along the way. When I was young my granmother would read my stories and be my editor, always encouraging me to keep working at it. My poor sister and cousins would squeal and squirm through stories meant to frighten them. And later when I started raising a family, I wrote for my children, using each of them as the main character in a story. Through it all my mother told me she was waiting to see my first book published.

Twelve years ago I moved with my husband to the beautiful, antebellum town of Milledgeville, Georgia. I found employment with WalMart, where a host of wonderful people endured reading and rereading my manuscripts and encouraged my dream of writing a book.

Well, y'all, I finally quit talking about it. Here it is!

My mother died before my book was completed, but I often feel her presence and sometimes I hear her whisper in my ear, "I knew you could do it."