Lena Stark is the Head Sarcastinator and most omnipotent short, bossy person in her home on the outskirts of Portland, OR, despite the constant efforts of the six other short, bossy people (or “children” as nicer people insist on calling them) to usurp her phenomenal, cosmic power.
In her many imaginary lives to which she escapes for sanity preservation purposes, she is alternately Dr. Stark, who works for the Centers for Disease Control; President Stark, who obviously solves international crises and domestic economic problems over golf with important writing professionals like Joss Whedon (because when you’re President, you can pick who you golf with, so why not?); and Lena Stark, Country Vet, who attends to birthing cows and may or may not have been inspired by reading far too many James Herriot novels in her cloistered youth.
After many years of retreating into the quiet afforded by her lovely books, spinning volumes worth of fancifulness in her own head, and cultivating her snobby attitude toward poor grammar and flat prose, she finally decided that it was time. Time to stop procrastinating. Time to stop complaining about the minutes and hours she could not seem to find. Time to really write. And now she does. Behind door number three, Lena found glorious worlds of hope and betrayal and faith and grief and beauty she had known were there all along. They fill her written work and bleed over into life, making it richer every day.
When Lena is not writing, trying to convince her husband that watching re-runs of Firefly or Buffy the Vampire Slayer counts as research, or herding around her clutch of children, she can usually be found marking elaborate henna tattoos all over her or her children’s arms or dumping more bourbon into her apple cider than she will admit to.