About Lisa

So, how did we get here?

This is the part where I’m supposed to tell you I wrote my first book at age four and studied creative writing at a string of prestigious educational establishments, so you know I’m a real writer.

But that’s not my story.

I was born into a family of pragmatists. My dad taught me how to grow vegetables and fix things around the house, and my mum taught me how to follow the rules but shatter the norms. (I should tell you about her someday.) My parents grew up in a world of air raids and food rationing, when education was a privilege reserved for wealthier people. The thing they most wanted was for me to go to university and get a good job. Becoming a writer—or indulging in any creative profession—was never on the table. Despite the looming threat of a grown-up future, I filled my childhood with dance, music, books, and theatre—all the things I loved that didn’t check the “get a good job” box.

I was around 12 years old when a boy in my class told me he was going to become a civil engineer. I wasn’t sure what that was, but someone said that girls couldn’t be engineers, so that’s what I decided to do. (See mother figure, above.) After many years of education, internships in France and California, and a graduate degree in Earthquake Engineering and Structural Dynamics, I proved that silly boy wrong and became a structural engineer.

I quickly discovered I hated being an engineer. It was a solid career, but with no creative outlet. I had lost touch with the dancing, singing, writing, and performing that had once fueled me. I felt trapped in a good life I’d worked hard to build, but which gave me no joy. I needed to rediscover myself. 

I joined a local community theatre and started acting again. Then I got a real headshot, took some acting classes, and began spending time with actors, writers, make-up artists, and cinematographers in the making. Finally, I took a leap of faith, and quit engineering, shocking my family. I started working as an extra and going out on auditions. Like many actors, I supported myself by waiting tables.

Somewhere in there, I started writing again. I had a strange little story in my head about reincarnation and I tried to write it as a screenplay. I took screenwriting classes and tried to cram this weird little story into that format. Then I took a personal essay class and got my first published piece in the Los Angeles Times. I was a prose writer! I threw a publication party, hung my framed story on my bedroom wall, and cashed my $400 check. And then I realized my parents were right: I needed a job that would support me. 

I ended up in the marketing department of a small community bank, a job that put my analytical training to use, kept a roof over my head, and also tapped my creativity. And I kept writing. I wrote before work in the mornings, and in cafes on the weekend. I took classes at UCLA and attended conferences when I could. I kept working on my strange little story about reincarnation, learning to be a better writer with every revision. Ten years and MANY revisions later, I had a finished book. I finally figured out what I wanted to be when I grew up. I wanted to be a writer.

this writer lives in Northern California, with her husband (Mr. Fabulous) and two cats who know exactly who they are and what they want from life. I grow vegetables in my front garden and get out for hikes in the redwoods as often as I can. I am the proud owner of a small sailboat—a good old lady who knows a lot more about sailing than I do. In my unconventional little family, I am the fixer of broken things (thanks, Dad) and Chief Spider Rescuer. And when I’m alone in my kitchen I still dance and sing as if I’m on a West End stage.