If you heard me say “park your car in Harvard yard,” you wouldn't ask where I'm from.
Growing up in the Boston suburb of Revere (in those days defined by having both a dog track and a horse track, and lots of gentlemen with binoculars doing sub-rosa checks of the totes from assorted windows)I learned early that I could make people pay attention if I told stories. They were whoppers, usually involving secret caves and mysterious codes, that I insisted were true. Soon I realized that if I left an episode at an exciting point everyone came back for more.
My future was obvious. I was either going to be a novelist or a pathological liar.
Writing fiction, however, is a leap into a void—anyone who's tried it will tell you so—and my first published work was largely journalism. Eventually I mustered the courage to make things up and submit the result for publication. I've now done that successfully eighteen times and seen the results in a variety of languages. Which astonishes me, but it's true. You can see more about my books here.
I was privileged to be married to Bill Martin and be the mother of Michael Martin. Now untimely gone. We lived in many parts of the US and Europe including for a short time northwestern Connecticut, which has among its many charms the Benedictine Abbey of Regina Laudis. For which reason I'm back there now.
My Catholic faith defines my life, along with deep respect and gratitude for the rich legacy of my Jewish heritage.
Happens I'm also a huge soccer fan (Liverpool! Liverpool! Liverpool!) and if you are as well you'll know A/that it's really hard to score goals in Soccer, and B/that many players when they do score make a public gesture of thanks to God. Me too.
In all things, ad majorem Dei gloriam.