top of page

About Me


Once Upon a Time

As a little girl growing up in South Central Texas, I would lose myself in stories and spend hours in my mind enlarging the story. What about that background character? What is their story? What if this happened instead? What happened after the story ended? Or before the story began? I would create my own stories in my head, and journal about the characters with pencil and paper. I loved books, and words, and handwriting. One of my favorite books was "Little Women," and I imagined myself as Jo March, writing and publishing my first story.


Life Happens

When I headed off to college, I wanted to major in journalism, but my dad discouraged it. I listened, and wanted to please, so I majored in psychology. I ended up being a paralegal for many years before having three boys in three years. I became a full-time mom and I don't regret one minute of those years, but the dream to write a book still lingered in my heart. 


Invitation to the Story

I was middle-aged and crunched between grown children and elderly parents when I discovered a Rubbermaid container under my parents' bed with a stack of letters in neat, German cursive. They were written in 1946-47 by my grandfather's sister and her daughter. My grandfather immigrated to Texas in the 1920s, and I never knew him or any of his family, who remained in Germany. The letters were mute about the war, only mentioning the aftermath. My curiosity was piqued. My great aunt had lived through two world wars by this point. Her daughter had grown up under the shadow of the Third Reich. What had their lives been like? What choices did they make? Did their husband and father fight in the war? Were they Nazis? What would it have been like to be a woman, wife, mother, daughter, friend during those times? 


The story of Lili von Rundsleben was born.

Telling the story

I realized very quickly I didn't know enough about Germany history leading up to the rise of Hitler or details of life under the Third Reich. I spent more than a year researching, looking for primary sources untainted by hindsight. Characters emerged and began to show up in my dreams. I made notes and named them, just like in my childhood journals.


I began to tell the story. There were stops and starts--I lost both parents along the way--but more often than not I headed to my desk morning after morning to let the story flow from my fingertips. Writing began to feel like reading a great book I didn't want to put down.


The story is nearly complete, and the next step is sharing it with you. I can't wait!



Thanks for submitting!

bottom of page