I grew up in Compton, earned a BA from UCLA (Speech/English), then moved with my husband to the San Francisco area, where I entered graduate school in Speech Pathology. While in the program, I gave birth to Matthew and Alisa.

Following my father's death, I was asked to write a book about him. Although the publishing company was sold and the project dropped, I continued to write. Many years after my divorce, and with both children away at university, I went to Paris for three months and stayed for nearly five years. That was my turning point, when I learned to be alone, work alone, and trust myself to make good decisions about my life. When I came back to the States, I finished my first novel and earned my living as a freelance marketing writer in Silicon Valley. (It took many years to acknowledge that the lonely and disconnected woman in The Bone Weaver bore any resemblance to me. As today's youth say: duh) In 2007, I edited two anthologies: The Other Woman: Twenty-one Wives, Lovers, and Others Talk Openly About Sex, Deception, Love, and Betrayal (Warner/GrandCentral), a nonfiction bestseller in Canada; and For Keeps: Women Tell the Truth About Their Bodies, Growing Older, and Aging (Seal Press). As much as I love these books...and I do...far more important are the relationships...friendships...I've built with so many of the authors from both books. For me, they are the true gift.

I'm now working with Rosemarie Reed as story developer and writer on our documentary film Suffer the Little Children: Frances Kelsey and the Story of Thalidomide(Rosemarie Reed Productions), which will air in 2009.

I teach Creative Writing in the UCLA Extenion Writers’ Program, which I love to do...it's a wonderful program, rich with so many writing courses.

I'm the grandmother of two girls, age five, who bring unlimited joy to my life, share my love for books, and remind me every day what really counts. I thought that publishing books was the great thrill. The truth is, I didn't know what "living" meant until two bubbly, beautiful, and inquisitive little girls learned to call out "Mima!" and throw themselves into my arms.