Though my books are written from a historical perspective, I have goon so far back that I am in the realm of prehistorical speculation rather than simple historical fact to weave my stories around.

I probably read 100 times more than I write, but that way when I move my characters through it, I know.

Illness and accidents were mysterious manifestations of the war of the spirits, fought on the battleground of the body.

They stared at each other, wanting each other, drawn to each other, but their silent shout of love went unheard in the roar of misunderstanding, and the clatter of culturally ingrained beliefs.

Of the two, I would think of my work as closer to Science Fiction than Fantasy.

The other mammoths were as protective of the dying as they were of newborns, and they gathered around tying to make the fallen one get up. When all was over, they buried the dead ancestor under piles of dirt, grass, leaves, or snow. Mammoths were even known to bury other dead animals, including humans.

From the beginning, when I first got an idea for a story and wondered if I could write it, it has always been the story that has driven me.