For as long as I can remember I was always going to be a nurse like my cousin Irene.  That’s what I told my parents and that’s what we all expected. Though I had been more successful in English classes than in other classes and I had always preferred words over numbers or science projects, becoming a writer had never crossed my mind. Until I was nearly thirty years old.

I met Bob Hodgson soon after I graduated from high school and we married that same year--1972. In 1975 and 1977,  I gave birth to daughters, Amy and Sara.

          In 1983 Bob was a deputy with the Riverside County Sheriff’s Department when the four of us attended a retreat for Law Enforcement families at the Forest Home Conference Center in California. That’s when I had my first encounter with a bonafide writer! She interviewed Bob and I for a magazine article.

I remember sitting across the table from Carol the writer, listening to her questions-- watching her fiddle with her tape recorder and jot down notes. And wondering. Hmmm! A writer?

When I asked her questions about being a writer, she recommended that I pick up a copy of The Christian Writer’s Handbook by Margaret Anderson. I found the book in the conference center bookstore and read it. Next, I saw an ad in a Christian women’s magazine for The Christian Writer (bought out and now available as The Christian Communicator) and subscribed. I was fascinated by the thought that ordinary people--people who didn’t live in exotic locations or lead fascinating lives--could write for publication. Bob encouraged me, reminding me of my prolific letter-writing habit and the positive responses I receive from their recipients. Still, I didn’t have a Bachelor of Arts degree in English or Journalism and I hadn’t had any extraordinary life experiences. What did I have to draw from?

Doubt and fear plagued me and I gave in to them, launching what I call my Jonah journey. In the fall of l984, I enrolled in a nursing program--the boat I boarded, headed in the opposite direction of my Nineveh. Before the end of the first year of college, I floundered in the belly of a large fish. Laying in a hospital watching a nurse switch out a bag of fluids for my I.V., I realized that a nursing career wasn’t for me. But I’m not as bright (submissive) as Jonah was. 

When the fish spit me out (the hospital released me) I still didn’t head for Nineveh (writing). I went to my college counselor and discussed switching to a music major. After all, I liked playing the piano and I had taught piano lessons. That might be the career for me.

It didn’t take more than a discussion with the dean of music for me to realize that a music career wasn’t right for me either.

Writing! That’s what my thoughts always came back to. The end of 1986, during one our walks, I shared my pesky little interest in writing with my dad. Like Bob, Dad didn’t seem to think it was so strange an idea. As a matter of fact, during a visit in the Spring of 1987, he asked me if I had pursued becoming a writer. I told him I was still thinking about it and asked him what he really thought.  “I don’t know that it would ever make you rich or famous,” he said, “but I think you have something of value to say.” Never mind that they were my husband and my father, they believed in me.

That summer, I responded to an ad for a correspondence course offered by Christian Writers’ Fellowship International. My instructor, Marlene Bagnull recommended that I enroll in the unit on writing daily devotionals. I did. In November 1987, my first acceptance letter and non-acceptance letter arrived in the same envelope from The Secret Place, a quarterly daily devotional. I moved on to correspondence course units in various genres including fiction, nonfiction, and poetry; all the while taking writing courses at the local community college and attending at least two writers’ conferences each year since the Spring of l988.

The rest as they say is history and is evidenced in the pages of this web site. 

I’m thankful God persists in pursuing us with His plans and for His purposes.