The theme is simple.

Baking and writing are two things I desperately love in life.  You should find some way to combine them.

This advice comes from a very wise friend that did not mean that I should write a cook book.  I am pretty sure John was talking more about connecting my passion for baked goods and my passion for bloody modern fantasy fiction.  So of course the first thing that came to mind was a serial killer that killed people and then baked in their kitchens as their blood seeped into the carpeting and made a mess of the hardwood beneath.

My first attempt did not go so well.

In fact, I am pretty sure I dropped it after two paragraphs because I knew in my heart of hearts that I was doing something that would enrage the baking gods.  And I had a cake to finish that night.

So we come to Poached Prose. 

I am not a professional baker.  I am self-taught, mostly from being planted firmly in front of the Food Network since I was seventeen and two loving grandmothers and one loving mother as well as perusing my mother’s battered edition of the Betty Crocker Cookbook that she received as a wedding gift more than three decades ago.  I don’t even own a cookbook.  The advent of the Internet has made it possible for me to fulfill my passion for baked pears and giant cupcake cake.

I am a professional writer, but the professional part is somewhere in my muddled past when I was more focused on not selling out than I was on keeping food on the table.  So now I work freelance and spend my day time at a day job where I struggle to keep my brain from imploding.

Good food and smart fiction are things that can turn me on faster than seeing my husband willingly hang up his towel.  I hope to see if somehow, somewhere, I might combine them into something that leaves me as satisfied as watching my husband struggle to do things that keep me from being irrationally pissed off.  We’ll just have to see.


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