I grew up at the western end of Malibu when it was considered undesirably remote. There was a small country market with a hitching rail, unfenced fields of barley, only a scattering of houses, and peacefully empty beaches. It was a perfect place for a shy, rather solitary girl like me. When I was not reading, I was riding my old mare, Rocket, through the hills and on the beach, weaving stories and daydreaming.
In my early thirties, I visited Ireland and immediately felt at home. Of mostly Celtic ancestry, I could see my brothers, sisters, and cousins in the faces of the Irish people. It was uncanny. The small island, with its rich history, green fields, and beautiful poetry, captured my imagination and heart and has never let go. My degree in history from UCLA served me well as I pored over books on ancient Ireland, enjoying my own flights of fancy as I read.
My family and career consumed most of my waking hours for many years but I never stopped dreaming. When our daughter was young, she loved my stories of magical, shapeshifting creatures and mysterious castles. I admit, I loved them also. When I retired, I bought Flanagan, a thoroughly likable big horse, and started riding in the hills again. During those rides, Keelin’s story began to unfold and I created the world of ancient Ireland, loosely anchored in history and filled with fantasy, excitement, and danger. It is a world into which I love to escape.