L. K. Glover
At the tender age of sixteen, her parents relocated the family to a wilderness cabin at Shell Lake, Alaska.1 Isolated in a three-room cabin with no electricity, no running water,2 an older sister . . . and zero boys her own age, she composted every book she could get her hands on, a literary hodge-podge of Stephen King, Jack London, Victoria Holt, Frank Herbert, JRR Tolkien, stirred up with some classics like The Scarlet Letter and Wuthering Heights.3
When the books ran out, she wrote desperate love letters to any boy who might respond (sadly, only two). When the boys (and the mail service) ran out, she wrote stories.
Story ideas, thankfully, never ran out, and a love of writing was born. A workshop and contest junkie, she has since completed the University of Washington’s fiction writing program, Seattle Community College Screenwriter’s Studio, has won several literary awards, including RWA’s Golden Heart and the Pacific Northwest Writers Association Award for Children’s literature.
1To visit Shell Lake, head due north for 1,537 miles. Just past the Modern Conveniences End Here sign, take a sharp right.
2Because of her Alaskan experiences, she can now intercept Morse code transmissions, auger a hole through thirty inches of solid ice, wash clothes at twenty-below-zero, chop firewood, and fend off grizzly bears. Two-cycle engines fear her. (Completely useful life skills . . . should the Zombie Apocalypse ever occur, anyway.)3She actuallyfinished Moby Dick. Had she known Cliff Notes existed she would have gladly shelled out the bucks to save herself from the whale-who-would-not-die.