I live in a small college town in Southeastern Idaho. I was born in Idaho, and with the exception of what would equal perhaps a year in Utah, was reared here.

I went to college and majored in Biological Anthropology with a minor in American Indian Studies. I went to grad school, too. I studied Medical Anthropology and Paleonutrition. I worked as a teaching assistant, did research, and even was paid to play medical anthropologist.

It was a good life.

And now?

Now I have a two-year-old son. He's beautiful, adorable, hilarious, and lights up this house on a hill on the west side of town. I have a dog and a cat and a husband. It's a good life now, too.

But a girl has to have something for herself. So that's where the other things come into play.

I admit it -- I write. And yes, I know -- it's a dirty, filthy habit. That's right ladies and gentlemen, I make things up for fun and write them down.

I was reading Harlan Ellison's Dangerous Visions (a truly fabulous book) and came across the comment (I believe it was attributed to Robert Silverberg, though I could be wrong) that if someone writes, say a story, and puts it away without sending it out it's masturbation. Good point. I'm sick of masturbating. I think I might be ready for some real honest to goodness sex.

Let's hope someone bites.