Bio
Just like singer/songwriter John (Cougar) Mellencamp, I was born in a small town. And I lived in a small town. Not the same small Indiana town, but close. I grew up in Bloomington, Indiana.
Educated in that same small town. I attended Child’s Elementary School, where I spent many-a-recess period running away from Russell, a peaked-too-early, die-hard romantic third grader, who desperately wanted to kiss me on the cheek and gift me jewelry.
During these formative years, when I wasn’t eluding Russell, I started writing. I penned letters, short stories, and comic books. Some of my earliest hand-written tales were truly gripping. My first real page-turner was titled The Skunk Who Did Not Smell. I followed that with a periodical called Christy’s Cuddly Cats Magazine—a “one-woman show,” as it were, because I did all of the researching, writing, editing, proofreading, artwork, marketing, and distribution for the magazine. I then sold each individually-typed manuscript to neighbors for 50 cents apiece—a true entrepreneurial venture.
"In high school, I was the weirdo whose heart fluttered any time a teacher assigned a research paper. I pecked away at my dad’s IBM typewriter, making copious notes, then scattered the pages like puzzle pieces across my bedroom floor to determine how best to construct my masterpiece."
At age 13, I enrolled at Batchelor Middle School where my social studies teacher scribbled on one of my papers, “You do an excellent job of using transitions.” That compliment was the single best thing that happened to me in middle school. It sure beat my battle with anorexia; then again, that ordeal served to inspire the first article I ever sold to a national magazine (more on that later). Honestly, though, the thing that most sticks with me from my time at Batchelor was how the unique spelling of the school’s name has caused me, ever since, to have to pause and really think about the correct spelling of the word “bachelor.”
In high school, I was the weirdo whose heart fluttered any time a teacher assigned a research paper. I pecked away at my dad’s IBM typewriter, making copious notes, then scattered the pages like puzzle pieces across my bedroom floor to determine how best to construct my masterpiece.
When it came time to choose a college, I didn’t have to. My parents told me I was attending Indiana University. I didn’t mind, though. I had considered myself an Indiana Hoosier since birth, having grown up watching IU basketball where infamous Coach Bobby Knight regularly demonstrated how a single expletive could be used as a noun, adjective, verb, and adverb all in the context of the same sentence. This skill fascinated a wordsmith like me.
After graduating from IU with a degree in English and Secondary Education, my plan was to pursue a full-time writing career, but I’ll admit my confidence was shaken by my English professors who massacred my papers with copious amounts of red ink. When a journalism professor told me that the average annual salary for a journalism graduate was $12,000, I gulped. Talk about harshing my writing mellow. My mind flashed to the Indiana Jones movie in which several poor souls drink from the wrong chalice. Maybe I have chosen poorly.
I didn’t have a Plan B. Writing was my only passion. Ultimately, I landed a receptionist position working for a Regional Educational Laboratory (REL) in Tallahassee, Florida. During my eight years at the REL, I worked my way up the organizational ladder—moving from receptionist to Distribution Specialist to Information Communications Specialist to Assistant Program Specialist (oddly, during my tenure at the REL, I never once specialized in anything). If I learned nothing else from time spent working at this organization, it’s that job titles are meaningless. Over those eight years, I did learn a great deal about the publishing industry, but while I enjoyed my 9-to-5 job, I ached for something more.
I began sending out query letters to various magazines and, like all writers, was met with a good deal of rejection. Once I sold my first article titled “Diary of an Anorexic” to Campus Life magazine, I was thirsty to write more. I wrote features in Cat Fancy, Cats USA, and Kittens USA. (I like to think Christy’s Cuddly Cats Magazine laid the groundwork here.)
I didn’t have a Plan B. Writing was my only passion... I began sending out query letters to various magazines and, like all writers, was met with a good deal of rejection. Once I sold my first article titled “Diary of an Anorexic” to Campus Life magazine, I was thirsty to write more."
Through the years, I’ve written for more than 60 magazines, always eager to write about anything and everything–from fitness to finance, from cancer to construction, from rabies to rugby. I’m nothing if not well informed.
I’ve now been a freelance writer for 20+ years, with more than 3,000 publications to my credit, plus contributions to 28 anthologies, including 18 in the Chicken Soup for the Soul series.
I wrote Cabin Glory: Amusing Tales of Time Spent at the Family Retreat, which was the grand prize winner of a national non-fiction book writing competition. I also placed in the Inspiring the World Journalism Competition and was a finalist in the Humor Category for the Next Generation Indie Book Awards Competition, so take that, Professor C. (the prof who delighted in red marking my college papers).
Given that perimenopause has been kicking my ass for the past five years, I decided to write a humor book about it. Why Did I Walk into This Room? Finding the Humor When Perimenopause is Kicking Your Ass, is full of insightful information, astute observations, and amusing anecdotes.
I’m so happy to be a writer. I’m happy, just like small-town John Mellencamp, who broke away, but never really strayed from his roots. After eight years living in sunny Florida, I moved back to Indiana. Why? Well, on 2-degree days when I can see my breath but can’t feel my hands, I ask myself that very question. I guess it’s because, like John, I can breathe in a small town and be myself in a small town. Also, I hate traffic.
Oh, and as a side note: Russell, if you’re out there, I will gladly accept that lovely heart-shaped locket now. I’ve learned a lot since my time at Child’s Elementary—namely, that life is too short to run from jewelry.