I'm convinced that I didn't choose writing as a career; it chose me.  After numerous long distance moves necessitated by my husband's career, I realized I would never be in one place long enough to climb the corporate ladder.  So, after the tenth move, in sheer desperation I decided to try writing a book. When a major publisher bought it, I knew that I had found a career!  Or, rather, it had found me.

It isn’t too surprising that things turned out that way.  The seeds were planted early in my childhood.  I read voraciously…anything and everything I could get my hands on.  In fact, at one point when I was in my teens, my mother said, “Karen, I’m afraid you’ll never amount to anything if you don’t get your nose out of a book once in a while.”  When my first book was actually published, she was very proud—and possibly astonished.

Writing fulfills something inside me like nothing else.   I’m interested in people, in their lives, in who they are, in their interests, in what makes them tick, in what makes them happy or sad or good or bad.  In trying to write stories that speak to my readers, I’m drawn to explore the problems of contemporary women…and they are many in today’s complex world.  I see the difficulties women face in maintaining relationships, in balancing marriage and motherhood with career, with divorce, with the challenge of blended families, to issues facing society as a whole.

Looking at my body of work, it is possible to see my growth as a writer.  Although I was first published in traditional romance, I soon agitated to move to more complex stories.  Given the freedom to develop whatever my muse came up with, I was soon penning romantic suspense, then mysteries, then thrillers.  But every story, every plot, had and will always have romance at its core.  I believe this is what my readers want and I’m happy to write it.   

Ten years ago, I lost my husband to a fatal heart attack.  Not only was my world changed, but I was changed in ways too numerous to mention.  Conventional wisdom says no major life decisions should be made within a year of a traumatic event.  So, exactly on the dot of one year, I sold my house in Jackson, Mississippi, packed up and moved to Houston, Texas, where several relatives had settled, including my sister, my brother and one of my three daughters.  I’ve never regretted that decision.  After living a nomadic lifestyle for many years and moving at least twenty-five times, I have become a full-fledged Texan.  The only disadvantage (besides the sweltering hot summers) is that two of my three daughters live far away—in separate states—so that I can only see them once or twice a year.

But in spite of being separated by long distances, my family is a joy.  I have five incredibly handsome and stunningly intelligent grandsons.  I guess I will have to wait for one of them to present me with a great grand-daughter as my daughters have not come through on that dream.  All in all, between my family and my career as a writer and my many friends, I consider myself wonderfully blessed.