My mother died decades ago this Christmas, but if it had been up to her, I still wouldn’t know. She never wanted me to worry. The letters she sent while I was away at college were always the same: Everybody’s fine; the weather’s fine; hope you’re fine. P.S. Your Aunt Virgie had her leg amputated.

It wasn’t quite Who, What, Where, Why, and When — but it was succinct. That may explain my own tight writing style and lifelong urge to dig beneath the surface. She was a terrific audience, too, for a kid who loved to tell stories.

I wanted to be a journalist for as long as I can remember. I blame “His Girl Friday.” Like practically every journalist on earth, I edited both my high school newspaper and the yearbook and then studied journalism at the University of Missouri.

Eventually I became a film critic for The Washington Post, spending my days (and many late nights) reviewing movies and interviewing famous actors and infamous directors. When I covered my first Cannes Film Festival, everyone at the office imagined me on the beach. In reality, I spent all day in the dark. I would like to report that Cannes is not that glamorous — although it might be if French poodles were, how you say, toilet-trained.

My small-town, working-class roots gave me an unusual perspective for analyzing films, studying American culture, and — ultimately — writing the kind of stories I love. My father was a foreman at a distillery; my mother sewed labels into men’s underwear at the garment factory. After my father died when I was six, she went to work in an auto-parts factory. I recently found one of her saved paystubs — she was so proud to finally earn $10,000 a year.

After twenty-four years at the Post, I left journalism to focus on fiction. I’ve written the speculative novel, The Vessel — which earned terrific reviews — and three interactive narratives for Pixelberry Studios. My husband, Ed, and I have also written several screenplays together, including Tall, Dark and Santa, which continues to make the Hollywood rounds.

These days, I write the stories that let me bend reality a bit — where monsters can be hilarious, and fairy tales misbehave.

I live in Alexandria, Virginia, with Ed and Beau (a.k.a. The Cat Jesus), who is convinced he’s the real protagonist of everything I write.