Everybody has a story. What's yours?

Why England?

I get asked that question a lot. The short answer is: because I married a British man. But there's more to the story.

I'm a country girl. I grew up in the rolling hills of Pennsylvania where everyone was related, and you knew all your neighbors. When the time came, I left home to attend a university in the heart of the Rocky Mountains.

I grew up.

I married.

I divorced.

I moved on.


In the wacky climate on the receiving end of Lake Erie, in the suburbs of Buffalo, NY, I raised my children, alone.

Like every other mom on the planet, I could fill a book with our adventures.

Eventually, the kids grew up (surprisingly kind-hearted and respectable) and headed out into the world on their own.

Empty Nester

Life as an empty nester was good.

I worked hard at the two jobs that made me happy: programming computers and writing novels.

I came home every night to the welcoming comfort of a beautifully decorated house full of all the whitewashed, fragile, sparkly things I'd kept bubble-wrapped and boxed away while raising the kids.

I even had a new car—no more junkers for me—a relief to my friends who were tired of jump-starting my ride. I was happy and merrily sliding into middle age, content with life and NOT looking for anything new.


Once a year, I traveled to Pittsburgh to visit with my aunt (we grew up together, kindred spirits) and attend Confluence, a smallish convention for science fiction and fantasy writers, and their fans.

I chatted and laughed and had a great time, blissfully unaware that my life was about to change.

In Walks the Man

Lawrence Dean was the featured Filk Guest at the convention.

For those of you who don't know—FILK is folk music with a SciFi/Fantasy twist to it (think Weird Al's version of American Pie).

I heard Lawrence sing, and despite my cranky self-promise to forever ignore all men, I was charmed. How could I not be? A handsome British bard singing tales of spaceships and wishing wells, all in a magical land of beyond.

He swept me off my feet and carried me away to his homeland.

Of course, he couldn't fit all my stuff on his back, so I had to leave it behind. Weep.


So here I am, an uprooted and displaced American living in southeast England, in a sweet little town known as Faversham.

When I have time, I'll do my best to share the ongoing adventure with you. xx

©2007 - 2019 Deborah J Dean. All rights reserved.