I learned to read when I was three years old. My father taught me, and in full disclosure, I have to say it was an act of desperation on his part: I was what they now call hyperactive. (Then, it was just called being a pain in the backside.) By teaching me to read, he gave me an activity to occupy my mind while I was awake, and the rest of the family got much needed sleep. It opened up a portal to other worlds: wondrous places that I've enjoyed revisiting throughout my entire

A few weeks ago, my laptop started playing up. It ran sluggishly and some functions seemed to have gone on a work-to-rule. It finally got...

My book, “A Deal with her Father,” is set in 1926. Although the Great War had been over for eight years by then, it still impacts the...

Recently, someone asked me what a nabob was. The question surprised me: having grown up on a steady diet of Georgette Heyer, it's a word...