Lots of kids growing up in the 1970s wanted to be astronauts.

Not many held onto that dream until they were rejected by NASA… twice.

Being the daughter of a psychologist who owned her own practice and an engineer who designed rocket engines for the Saturn V during the Apollo program really encapsulates a lot of who I am. I was good at math and science, dreamed of being an astronaut, but also read a ton of science fiction, fell in love with Star Wars and Star Trek, and wrote my own stories from the time I could hold a pen.

I was raised to believe you could do anything you set your mind to, and my mind was very earnest. That’s how I found myself at age 16 (1981) on a tarmac for an airshow near Port Hueneme, where my father worked as a civilian for the Naval Research Lab, telling the Navy Recruiter I wanted to fly airplanes so I could be a Space Shuttle Pilot. He told me that women weren’t allowed to fly fighter planes (true at that time and required for the astronaut program), only VIP aircraft, and sorry about your luck, kid.

I was angry, disappointed, and for the first time, experienced directly the structural sexism that still exists in America now, as I’m writing this, decades later, in 2021.

I also didn’t let that stop me. If society wasn’t ready for female Space Shuttle Pilots (yet, they would be later with Eileen Collins in 2003), then I would become a Mission Specialist instead.

That decision informed the next sixteen years of my life. I left writing behind as “frivolous” (being taken seriously as a woman in engineering was a tall order, and there was no room for the arts), and got a series of engineering degrees (BS Aerospace Engineering, MS Mechanical Engineering, Ph.D. Environmental Engineering). I interned with NASA (Dryden, Goddard, Langley), winning scholarships for my graduate work along the way. I also worked at GE Aircraft Engines for a while before returning for my Ph.D. research, then landed a postdoc at NCAR (National Center for Atmospheric Research). Finally, the time had come for me to apply to the astronaut program! I had enjoyed all my engineering training and work along the way (except for the abundant sexist remarks, harassment, holding back of assignments, lack of mentoring my male colleagues received, etc.). I had known all along that being an astronaut was a long shot, so I was determined to do only work that I enjoyed.

Which I did, finding an amazing and brilliant man (Kerry Quinn) to marry along the way.

When the second rejection from the astronaut program came, it was time to finally let that dream go. It might seem strange to count the biggest “failure” of my life as a success, but I do—I’m proud that I pursued that dream as far as it could go.

But letting that dream go set me adrift for a while. I wanted a family, but it was clear that was incompatible with a tenure-track position at NCAR, the next logical step in my career. Sure, I could work part-time while having children, doing someone else’s lab work, but I wouldn’t be able to direct my own programs. And once you were off the tenure track, you didn’t get back on. I knew this in 1998 when my first son (Adam) was born, but it took until 2001, when my second (Sam) came along, to decide to give up on science and be a stay-at-home mom. I don’t regret that choice, but I understand now, twenty years later, that society at that time (and still today) doesn’t make men choose between being professors and fathers, not in the same way. My beliefs about unpaid labor and patriarchy are home-grown through my experiences in life.

By the time my third son (Ryan) was born in 2003, I was immersed in parenthood. Three children under five are a joyful handful. I had always planned on returning to work once my children were in school, but the shine had come off science and engineering for me. Plus, the idea of re-entering the workforce with a Ph.D. and 10 years lapse in working time meant doing entry-level work, and that was even less appealing.

Instead, I ran for school board, winning an election in a school system the size of a small congressional district. I was keenly aware of the inequities that children faced in getting an education—from gifted students to special needs, as well as our students of color. For four years (2007-2011), that was my unpaid passion work, alongside my unpaid passion work of parenting.

But it wasn’t enough. I knew through those years that something was missing. I’d been toying with creative hobbies, and the work of school board and parenting was exhausting and fulfilling, but I was in seeking mode, searching for the work that would animate and drive me the way that the dream of being an astronaut had for so long.

It took a while to remember that I had once been a writer.

In fact, I backed into that, half unconscious and fully awkward, randomly deciding one day (2009) to sit down at my keyboard and bang out some Twilight fanfiction. I’d never written fanfic before—all the works of my childhood were original—but as I typed “Chapter One” and let myself just play with words and description and emotion again… something unlocked. The roar of creative passion came surging out. I was instantly obsessed, not only with the creative act itself but this wild idea that you could upload your works and have instant feedback from readers. I quickly produced one “novel” and then another, my children and husband wondering why I was suddenly spending every spare moment at the computer.

By 2010, I knew this was it. I barely knew how to plot, hadn’t yet written my first original novel, but I knew—this was the thing I would be doing the rest of my life. Eleven years later, that conviction is even more strong.

But back then, I knew nothing about the business. That was before self-publishing, and once I understood the very long odds of landing an agent and getting a publishing contract, I was mighty demoralized. And angry. I remember sitting in a theatre by myself, in the middle of the day (the kids must have been in school), watching a movie and thinking this was what I wanted to do with my life. Not film per se but storytelling. It was outrageous to me that there were only a few slots available for published authors and that you had to win the lottery to get one. When I dreamed of being an astronaut, it made sense there were only a few who could go to space. But publish a book? Why in the world was that restricted?

It made me viscerally angry, sitting in that theatre, thinking that this thing I loved—creating—that felt essential to my being was somehow only for the lucky few.

Mind you, this was before self-publishing. But I made the commitment at that moment that I would not accept that fate. I would write regardless, so I had better figure out how to make a career of it. Fortunately for me and my angry, newly-awakened, budding writer-self, self-publishing splashed onto the scene in 2011. Several authors broke out and proved self-publishing to be a viable path for finding readers, and astonishingly, for making money. A legit career.

I self-published a young adult science fiction novel, Open Minds, on November 1st, 2011… and never looked back.

A decade later, I’ve generated a body of work across two pennames (one for speculative fiction and one for romance), including 51 novels, 18 novellas, and translations in German and French. I have an agent who lands audiobook contracts for me, an assistant (Noelle Gaussens) who helps keep the whole operation running, and a couple of my stories had the good luck to be optioned for virtual reality. I have my own small business, just like my mother before me.

In other words, a legit career.

Ironically, I took a while to fully integrate my science and engineering background into my creative works, but this new hopepunk series I’m writing now is my most Hard SF yet—it has everything from green tech to fusion to how to maintain the electric grid… along with characters who embody the struggles of our time.

As long as I’m breathing, I plan to be writing. I’m a passionate advocate that creative works are essential to the human soul and everyone should be able to tell their stories.

The Writers on the Moon project embodies it all. Space travel, science and engineering, storytelling and creativity, and the endless generosity I’ve seen in this indie community—people making room in their payloads for stowaways is the bonhomie I love and have come to expect from my fellow authors.

I count myself lucky to be among them.

And now we send our books to the Moon…

I may not have been destined to be an astronaut, yet somehow my spirit, embodied in the creation of my works, will be going to space anyway.

Simply amazing.