A biography of the author. This is more frightening than writing a book and publishing it. With a novel, I put my ideas in front of you to judge. That is not the same as talking about myself. Oh, no, not at all. Now, you are judging me.

Gulp.

I am Ann Tracy Marr. There isn't much to tell: Fifty-ish, married, kids out of the nest. Hobbies include genealogy, reading, and needlepoint. Lately I've been limping. My advice is to not put a hole in a tendon in your ankle, even a teeny tiny one. I finally got rid of the cane, but it's never going to be the same. I demanded one of those silly handicapped signs for the car and the doctor didn't blink. When I totter around like Frankenstein, no one smirks. I haven't heard one comment on the industrial soled orthopedic shoes that keep me upright. The joy of it is I have still have trouble getting to the washing machine. My husband remains Earl of The Laundry Room.

Most people would say I'm boring, I am afraid.

As I get older, I get funnier. Daughter Two noticed it first, then it spread to others. Guess I'm not afraid of what people say after all.

Three or four cats - Tigerlily is middle aged and cranky, Bart's sassy young, sulking because he doesn't like excessive heat or snow. The third? Sweet Sibley moved to California with Daughter One. Hey, it wasn't my idea, but that's where the job is. Sometimes it is a toss-up who I miss more, but Sibley purrs when I am on speaker phone. The fourth cat is not precisely mine -- Arwen is my daughter's -- but hey, if I want to claim her, I will. So make it four cats. My house abounds in cat dander.

Daughter Two thinks she is entitled to move to the east coast. Any suggestions for a mom stuck in the midwest? Please buy my books, one a day, again and again, so I can afford plane tickets.

Dull, right? I warned you. I'm just the person next door. Nothing exciting. Except locked away in my head - and now making its way into the world - is a romantic alternate reality. England's Regency period (think Pride and Prejudice) has gotten mixed up with a bit of magic left over from King Arthur's Camelot. Not heavy on the fantasy, mind you. Magic isn't something everyone does, and when they do it, it's secret. If you like Regency romances, my world won't upset you. Every once in a while you even get a peek at Prinny and Lady Jersey. It is a chance to enjoy a glimpse of what could have been our past if Merlin had been real.

BTW - there is magic older than Merlin. The Green Man is alive and cranky.

A quick note: I have been scolded for not putting an address book on this web site. There are two reasons why you can't find one.

1) A decent looking guestbook is beyond my capabilities. Bah.

2) I keep hearing about guestbooks raided by hackers. Humbug. Don't look for one soon.

But please feel free to email me at

Ann Tracy Marr @ aol . com

(take out the spaces before you click SEND)