Nancy Bartholomew began writing out of absolute desperation. Stuck in a cookie-cutter suburban subdivision with only toddlers and Thomas the Tank Engine to talk to, she began writing, filling her books with mayhem and mirth and catapulting herself into the middle of more trouble, mirth and mayhem than any soccer mom could handle.
Soon, feisty heroines, hunky heroes and assorted wacky relatives, friends and dogs began populating Nancy's imaginary worlds and finding their way onto publishers' desks. Nancy stole early morning quiet hours to write before the kids and work could interrupt. She baked chocolate chip cookies in the afternoons, invited a crowd of kids over to play and wrote at the kitchen table while the chaos swirled around her.
Now the boys are getting older and Nancy writes to avoid dealing with the reality of adolescence, you know, teenaged drivers, eye rolling, phrases like "Whatever!" and "I'll do it in a minute!"
She lives in North Carolina with her two boys, a large mutt named Bailey, a miniature schnauzer named Maggie who rules the roost, and a very confused bunny rabbit who seems to think she's a squirrel. If Nancy had spare time, her cottage garden wouldn't look like the horticultural equivalent of Girls Gone Wild, her funky, retro house would be halfway clean, and her paperwork would be all caught up. However, we all need something to aspire to, and a clean house is apparently not on her list of Lifetime Goals.
