about author
Whoever has indulged in erotica cannot deny the initial encounter forever defines you to yourself? Mine clearly altered my life forever. At sweet sixteen I became not only no longer a virgin but pregnant that first hookup—I had gotten drunk with Robin at “Dave’s Christmas party” on December 19th, in Pacific Palisades, California. We married in front of a judge in Las Vegas, January 21st.
PS: I’m searching for the picture of us—me in my “real” leopard jacket, gifted by my mother-in-law to be. (On an African Safari before they were an endangered species, her father gamed it.) Not finding the photo, I’ve posted me dancing with Robin. He’s in the shadow at the left, which is sorta this homemaker’s apocalypes.
Sadly, when I did not choose to date college student Robin anymore (and this was before the hook-up), Mom aggressively pushed me on him because “Robin’s family are rich Real Estate Developers”—the Tishmans were friends; and Robin’s ivy-league friend Dave lived across the street from “the” Reagan’s—their GE home; and Robin drove a spanking new red Corvette convertible; and Robin lived in a seacliff pad above PCH—Pacific Coast Highway. (His parent’s, of course, owned the house and car. Poor unrealistic Mom.)
I refused to abort my baby, sensing he was from the Lord—it’s telling that I had this slant in spite of the insufferable Roman Catholic religion shoved down my throat and a priest’s curse that I was evil for what I did and that the baby was . . .. I won’t repeat it!
All this grown up stuff quickly came upon me in my search for meaning. And whether my actions were right or not, the hook-up was an expression of audacious behavior that I owned completely.
Though dropping out of school was humiliating and I lost contact with my posse, philosophically this teen was right on target for the hook-up blew me out of a home life where I had learned to cope by being complacent, into one where I felt forced to grow (beyond my years) to be a dutiful wife—the easy part was mothering my precious babe.
No matter my awkwardness with sex, for example the first time my husband asked for a BJ, I sought to make him happy. Even so, living the dynamics of “us,” was more frustrating than a pleasure—he was cold even in bed.
I hid my tears nightly—horrified tears that just maybe I had recycled my unhappy childhood.
A woman needs time to relax her psyche. In fact when we don’t trust a man, we can’t truly receive pleasure from sex with him. So it was in my marriage to Robin—yet it wasn’t as if he didn’t have what it took to satisfy a woman, but his heart had no comforting words. Lots could be said about his indifference to me, but he was only three years older, so our pregnancy altered his college education.
After divorce, so desiring to enjoy sex outside of marriage, I managed to ignore certain taboos: guilt and its sister, shame. I learned to love my affair with sex. (That is when the guy was giving, too.) Admittedly it was a struggle.
Christian roots took sway echoing “sex out of wedlock is fundamentally a sin.” (I’d go celibate for years at a time.) Thus, my first book floored me, Journal of an Evening Primrose: a virgin teens discocvery of her erotic, angry self. I never intended to write steamy stuff, no less “free” love stuff and no less in a teen voice. No matter, JEP (nickname for main character) changed all this.
Yes. That was an unorthedox about author.
Actually, I was a highschool dropout–didn’t finish my sophmore year. At Hollywood High night school, I got a diploma.
Trained actor in the Stanislavski method. Played with Shakespeare. Was a member of the Groundlings Improv Group in LA. Worked with stars. Did TV commercials.
Then went on to enroll in english and literary courses. I attended UCLA for journalism and for screenwriting–dropped out before a degree. Wrote metaphysical articles for an international magazine. Have a few Poetry collections.
And here I am giving you my second book -a memoir- Almost Hollywood, free to read online as I write it.
My trilogy is my life story.