My first words as a toddler were likely, “Daddy, tell me a story.” From the time I was tiny until I was a pre-teen, my bedtime routine involved Dad tucking me in and then spinning a tale to lull me to sleep. He and my mom were creatives who fed and nurtured the imaginations of their two daughters.

Books were my doorway to new worlds and I breezed through them like a bear in a garbage dump. Armed with a No. 2 pencil and spiral notebook, in elementary school I began to write stories and poems. I knew then that I wanted to be an author.

Fast forward to college where I attended Bowling Green State University. At the time, it was the only school in the country that offered an undergraduate degree in creative writing (at least that’s what my advisor told me). Partway through my coursework, I realized it would be a tough road to the New York Times bestseller list and picked up a second degree in journalism, then several years later, a master’s in journalism from Michigan State.

My degrees opened the door to a successful career in corporate communications and change management for three Fortune 500 companies. When I retired, I enthusiastically abandoned corporate-speak to unleash my imagination. Today I write from my lakeside home in suburban Detroit where I live with my husband and two neurotic rescue dogs.