Letter from the Author

Dear Readers:

When friends ask me what my first novel is about, I pause for a moment, collect my thoughts and quickly add, “It’s about spies, lovers, diamonds and terrorists.” If I see a spark of interest in their eyes I say a little more. “It’s a rip-roaring page turner -- a book you can’t possibly put down. You’ll love the heroine – she’s a female version of Indiana Jones. Catalina is smart, beautiful, tough, and a covert agent for the CIA. She carries a set of knives in a holster on her back and joins up with the French Directorate to capture members of a terrorist cell on the Riviera.” By this time I’m nearly breathless, but I continue: “Fool the Eye is the perfect companion on a long flight to Paris, or a never-ending-plane-changing trip to Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. Time flies and you find yourself exiting from the airplane with a smile on your face, ready for you own adventure – whatever that may be.”

I look at my friends. Their mouths are wide open. Some recover quickly and enthusiastically ask, “When will it be in the book stores?” Bolder ones scream, “I want to read your manuscript, NOW! Can’t wait! And leave those racy parts in – you remember, the ones your editor told you to delete! I want the unabridged version!” The answer to the first question is, “I don’t know. First, I need an agent and a publisher.” And to the second query I simply reply, “You’ll have to wait for the published copy.” But I always add, “I’ll autograph it for you.” And I smile broadly.

How did I become a writer? A few months ago I retired from a 25 year profession in fundraising. As a professional I spent many hours crafting long letters, proposals, grants and reports—lots of non-fiction and as far from literary flirtations as one can imagine – much to my chagrin. Ah, but my imagination never stopped. I was always weaving a story in my mind. I went wonderful places and had great adventures during the many never-ending, mind-numbing staff meetings I was required to attend. I needed to free myself from the shackles of non-fiction and jump, no – leap – into the joys of fiction. It was time to say “good-bye” to my day job and write full time. And so I did. (Does this sound like Peter Mayle’s experience in “A Year in Provence,” sans the villa-of-many-repairs in the Luberon?)