About Me

My mother (Melodie M. Davis) has written several non-fiction books, and growing up, people used to ask me if wanted to be a writer like my mom. I wasn’t a rebellious child, but if anything got me going, that question did. No way did I want to be a writer. As far as I knew, writing was the stuff they made us do in language arts class: “My Favorite Vacation” and “My Best Friend” and other topics of that ilk. Hand-crampville with a side of snores.

Reading was a different story. Every year, I beat the pants off the summer reading contest hosted by our local library, racking up titles like other kids racked up Nintendo conquests. And this wasn’t just a summer addiction. When it was chore time, I hid in my room to read. When it was time to drive somewhere with the family, I spent so much time in bookland that when I got my learner’s permit, I didn’t even know how to get to church–a trip we’d taken every Sunday of my life. I still haven’t quite lived that one down.

The clear division between my love of reading and my hate of writing got obliterated in the spring of eighth grade, when I read Anne McCaffery’s Dragonflight. If every writer’s goal is to fire the reader’s imagination, then Ms. McCaffery did her job in spades. I have the most vivid memory of finishing the last page, looking up from the book and thinking, “I can do that. I want to do that.”

And I’ve been doing that ever since.