Nancy Brophy

I grew up reading and writing.

My imaginary friends have rich, larger-than-life lives encompassed in four hundred pages with definite beginnings, snappy middles, and above all, happy endings. My personal life is never as clearly defined. Beginnings are hard to locate. A new job, a school term, a family event like a death or a wedding might signal the start of something new, but it’s never heralded with any fanfare. It appears as just another link in the chain.

I live in the beautiful, green, and very wet, Northwest with my husband, two naughty dogs, PB and J, and forty rowdy chickens.

I can’t tell you when I fell in love with my husband, but I relate the moment I decided to marry him. I was in the bath. It was a big tub. I expected him to join me and when he was delayed, I called out, “Are you coming?”

His answer convinced me he was Mr. Right. “Yes, but I’m making hors d’oeuvres.”

Can you imagine spending the rest of your life without a man like that?

Like all marriages, we’ve had our ups and downs, more good times than bad. Most recently we have spent fourteen nail-biting months living in an apartment while our house was rebuilt from a house-fire in 2010. In the process, I have acquired an in-depth knowledge of kitchen cabinets, bathroom plumbing fixtures and leaking roofs. If this writing thing doesn’t work out, I plan to investigate becoming a contractor who specializes in on-time, under-budget remodels. Believe me there is a fortune to be made by the builder who can deliver on his promises.

My stories are about pretty men and strong women, about families that don’t always work and about the joy of finding love and the difficulty of making it stay. You can find me online at www.nancybrophy.com and Twitter.