The Laughing Ladies found me, rather than the other way around. It started when
Pat Porter, a good friend and fantastic watercolor artist and teacher, said in her marvelous offhand manner, that if she couldn’t paint some time during the day, she might as well not get up in the morning. I thought enviously, “How wonderful to have a passion like that.” I remembered her words when I started writing The Laughing Ladies, eager to get to the computer every day. I was experiencing the feeling Pat described.
As the story took shape, I wondered where it had been hiding all these years. I never imagined myself a writer and here I was, living in a mining town, high in the Colorado Rockies. I created a world to inhabit for a few hours a day, with no idea why I chose to be there. Perhaps, I was being channeled by an 1893 prostitute who wanted her story told.
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