Every single detail of the story has a source point, but, no, it is a work of fiction. The characters are best described as amalgams. For instance, Elizabeth's father, Benjamin, states at one point, 'You couldn't pay me a million dollars to live in New York City.' My father said that once. But, Benjamin is also an avid gardener who propagates hostas and orchids. That detail is a description of close friend Ian Morris. Benjamin also lets the neighborhood use his truck to run errands and asks only that the borrower bring him a six-pack of beer or fill the tank with a bit of gas. One of my neighbors in Tennessee does that.

I began writing an entirely different novel, perhaps as long as 15 years ago. The story of Elizabeth and Simon kept interrupting my thoughts, however, and I finally gave in and turned my attention to them ten years ago. The time I was able to devote to writing was limited to the hours after my children were in bed as I was a full-time working mom. Not until the move to Tennessee was I able to enjoy a near full-time devotion to finishing the story. It then took me about a year. When the story was complete, I found that the real work was just beginning. There was reorganizing, rewriting, and editing to be done and the thematic layers needed attention.

I spew. That's the best word for it. When I first started writing, I found myself grid-locked over spelling, grammar, and word choice. I couldn't make progress. I finally gave myself permission to just type, to let the words flow unheeded. I could see, in my head, a scene, the characters, their facial expressions, and I could hear their dialog. Just letting go and typing up what I can 'see' is my process. For Mercy of the Fallen, it was a very long time before I actually knew how I was going to end the story. That came to me while swimming one day. I'd completed about a half-mile of a one-mile swim and suddenly the entire ending started unfolding and I knew what was going to happen. It was incredibly exhilarating and I probably finished that mile swim in record time. I was so excited to get to my computer and start typing.

No. Elizabeth, Simon, and Sara's story is complete. I am now returning to the original story I began writing 15 years ago. I'm about halfway done with the initial manuscript. And, then, the process of really getting it done will begin.

I come from a family with a genetic proclivity for long life, with many living as long as a century. As a young girl I was surrounded by these Norwegian and German relatives, most of whom worked and lived on their family farms in Wisconsin. From them I inherited the gift of a vivid memory, acute observation, and the tradition of oral storytelling.

As an observer, I have always been fascinated with the disconnect between the public self and the private self, and how the tension between the two often dictates the narrative of an individual. An oft quoted aphorism of my own devising is, "At the end of the day, you never know what goes on behind closed doors."

While living on the campus of a New England boarding school with my husband and two small children, I began writing down the true stories I had filed away in my recollection. These memoirs of the flawed but redemptive nature of man paved the way for my first work of fiction. While writing the story of my college roommate, I began experimenting with adding fictional details to her story in order to develop her character more fully. My writing subsequently transitioned to short stories and eventually novels.

Most of my plot lines can be traced back to the kernel of a memory or observation, but much of it is supported with extensive research. The fictionalized tale of Dr. Stephen Gregory, for example, could hardly be constructed on my own experience since I have never traveled to Alaska. In addition to reading many sources on the subject, much of my material is informed by the stories my grandfather told me about his years in the wilderness, and the tragic end of a friend's brother who lost his life in Alaska.