I was born in Tulsa, Oklahoma, but lived in Casper, Wyoming from ages three to eight (following my dad, a geologist now retired from Amoco), before moving back to Tulsa with my family. I received two writing awards for Excellence from the University of Tulsa for articles I did for my high school newspaper, where I was also an alto in the Concert Choir. My pursuit of a journalism degree from the University of Tulsa was short-lived. In the meantime, I got married, became a step-mother to Jason Thrower, had two daughters, Karen and Sarah (who are now teenagers), and started writing. You could say I'm big on entertainment, since my other passions include reading, movies and music.

I became an Active SFWA member in January, 1996. I served for 2 years as the vice-president of Oklahoma Science Fiction Writers (OSFW). I recently dropped my membership in OSFW, but will always remember my first meeting: August, 1989, and I was in the middle of an atrociously bad sf novel, desperately needing contact with other people who were at least interested in writing sf and fantasy. I brought the prologue of my novel to read. I noticed a constantly smiling, white-haired man across the room, chatting w/a young blonde fellow sitting beside him. My only excuse being stupid nervousness, (and/or It Was Their Hair), I asked them, "Are you related?" They howled with laughter because of course they weren't related. Then I found out the white-haired gentleman was none other than R. A. Lafferty.

The early nineties were truly OSFW's salad days, during the last few years Ray was healthy enough to attend meetings. We'd take turns giving him rides, and I always brought my husband Randy along to help Ray on and off his porch. I was terrified I wasn't strong enough to support him if his legs gave out. ("Nobody SF Writer Responsible for Crippling Accident of American SF Treasure!")

Ray enjoyed the meetings immensely. He would laugh all evening, and make us laugh, too, since he had a wicked, razor-sharp sense of humor. He would eat snacks with gusto, grab any of us women he could and plant big kisses right on our mouths. Rarely, he would regale us with stories (sometimes deliciously unflattering but never malicious) of some of the biggest names in science fiction. He was devastated when Isaac Asimov passed away, observing that he should have gone first since he was older.

And he listened--with kind patience--to all manner of poorly-written, absolutely ghastly dreck from us. He never said much, but if you were very lucky, after you read your latest chapter or short story, he would occasionally remark, "Oh, that's a good one, you'll sell that." High praise, indeed. I was fortunate enough to hear that a few times, and Ray was right, I did sell a couple of the stories he commented on; "Fence of Palms," and "Noodle You, Noodle Me."

Ray lives in a Broken Arrow, Oklahoma nursing home now, and his cousin is keeping an eye on him. I miss you, Ray. Thanks for listening.

Background by Windy

Updated Wednesday May 29 2002