My mother, who was born on September 22nd, was lucky enough to celebrate the beginning of Fall with each birthday. She loved reading, and happily shared that joy with others. I always had access to books and I didn't realize, until I was older, that bookshelves were not standard pieces in people's homes.
She was not a writer (although at some point she wanted to write a children's book), but she did act at my first proofreader for the first two books in the Wiltshire series (she wasn't keen on the romantic scenes though). She would have continued in that role if she hadn't gotten sick, but unfortunately, fate had other plans for her.
While I was growing up, her best friend was a writer, who knew Christopher Pike (which perhaps may have started my strange fascination with all things paranormal). Between you and me, I always found my mother's friend to be a bit magical. Perhaps it was the mystery that accompanied the idea that a person could create whole worlds from scribbles strung together on a page.
But, whatever the reason, you have these two ladies to thank for my foray into literature, and maybe one day, I'll write that children's book for my mom.