Trish — the unofficial autobiography

I think the hardest thing in the world to write about is yourself. I can write about places I’ve never been, people I’ve never met, and things that never existed. But me? That’s a whole different story.

I was born in Saigon, Viet Nam, while my dad was stationed there. That was before they started shooting Americans and before Kennedy was shot. Yea, I’m old! And from those humble beginnings, we moved to San Francisco, where I learned about candy and gender-specific bathrooms. After two years there, we settled in Lehigh Acres, Florida.

From one small town to the next, via a city or two. I spent thirty-five years in the same place, seventeen of those years in the same house. I got married twice and divorced twice along the way. And I waited longer than anybody I know to have kids. It was the best thing I ever did…the waiting and the kids. They are my life.

But none of that seems so important now. A wise man once said that you can never embrace the future when you’re holding onto the past. That’s very true. Today, I live in a tiny town called Hertford. It consists of a few streets and a handful of houses older than a hundred years. There’s an ice cream counter in the local drug store where you can get a huge cone for fifty cents. And there’s peace and quiet galore.

When I was fifteen, I knew I wanted to be a writer. By that point, I was accomplished in twelve different musical instruments. I had devoured almost everything Dickens and Steinbeck had ever written, and my bookshelves contained every horror and science fiction anthology ever written. I was a complete Trek-a-holic and all I wanted was to settle down and write Star Trek scripts and books for the rest of my life.

I cut my teeth writing for fanzines, xeroxed in someone’s garage and stapled together unevenly. But I developed a following and learned something about the craft. My first novel was penned at the age of 15-1/2, and by the time I was sixteen, I had sold my first story to Walter Irwin’s “Best of Trek #13.” I was on my way.

I quit writing for awhile due to the necessity of eating and earning a living. It stayed in the back of my mind but I just had no time for it. I played the corporate monkey for awhile, then the spoiled princess. In the end, I came right back to where I started. Funny how that happens.

Another wise man said, “I have no idea where I’m going, but I know exactly how to get there.” That’s pretty much true of me, too. I had a few advantages in my life that most people aren’t given. I had seen most of the world by the time I was four years old. I sat at the feet (literally) of John D. MacDonald, David Putnam, a second cousin to The Queen, and a slew of famous stars you’re all probably too young to even know. I’m distantly related to Lorne Greene, Amelia Earhart, George Beverly Shay and a few others.

Today, I live in a huge historical house in Hertford with David, the love of my life. We met on the internet and have been friends, partners, and soul-mates ever since. Everything I am, I owe to him. We are joined by my two children, Billy and Stephanie,  a fish who lives in a blender, and David’s mother. For awhile, I was editor-in-chief of ChiZine, and even won a Stoker for it. I learned more there and from my co-horts, Steve Eller and Brett Savory, than any school could have taught me. But times change and people move on.

I still write when the spirit moves me. And maybe someday I’ll do my own magazine. I’m always happiest when I’m creating, whether it be stories, magazines, crochet or web pages. For now, I’m working on the house and the anthologies I want to publish. And I’m working on me. I’m a work in progress.