Linda B. Myers, Author

So there I was, happily writing novels. I morphed from the Bear series (and other mysteries) into historical fiction, all set in the Pacific Northwest. But there was an itch that wasn’t getting scratched. In this day and age, I recognize that itch as poetry.

I couldn’t write about sex until after my mother died. And the older I got, the more barriers broke away. I learned to talk directly about loss, love, pettiness, memory, dark passages in life. Poetry has an immediacy that I was feeling. I needed to scratch that itch. Besides, it is the ONLY way I can think of to make even less money than social security.

Speaking of social, you’ll find my poetry often shakes a fist at the biggest loss: that of our country. Watch this space for examples to come.