About Me

About the Author
I was born and raised in St. Petersburg, Florida. When I was five Santa brought me a dappled gray Shetland pony named Gypsy. My father put me on her with just a bridle to hold onto. Gypsy took off galloping, cutting across our neighbor’s property lines.

I was instantly hooked.

The author, shown with curly brown hair, pets her new pony Gypsy on Christmas Eve.

When I outgrew Gypsy, my father bought me Nehi, a strawberry roan aptly named after the popular 1970’s soda. Many of the girls in my neighborhood had horses too. We kept them in our backyards with open sheds as stalls. Given the mild weather, that is all they needed. We spent our summers and days after school riding in the woods, along the bay, and through the orange groves. Life was good.

A defining moment in my life happened when I was eleven. I was asked to watch the younger sister of a classmate during her horse show. My classmate had the most beautiful show pony I had ever seen and all the fancy riding gear and show attire to go with it. I sooo wished to be her.I would have given anything to be her at that moment in time. My mother had died when I was seven, leaving my father to raise me and my six brothers and sisters. The only riding gear I had was a bridle. Horse shows and fancy clothes were simply not in the cards for me. I did realize, however, how fortunate I was to have a pony at all. The sad part was that this little girl did not care about her pony or the show or any of it. She was so indulged that none of it really mattered to her at all. Her pony was just another thing and she did not treat it very kindly. I swore then and there that one day I would have my own show horse and when I did, I would treat her like a princess.

Jaliska, my princess, pokes her head out of her stall window to say hello.

Quest for the Prix is dedicated to
Jaliksa (8), Nicole (12) and Bobby (14).