Janine Harrison

I was born in Chicago and raised in a south suburb to a carpenter father, who loved to sing and tell stories in the evenings. In fact, he called himself a "TTT," that is, "teller of tall tales." My mom, a secretary, had a 151 I.Q. and won every battle in our household's dictionary warfare. My sister and brother were 16 and nearly 20 years' old when I was born and of a different generation; my sister was an artist and my brother, a Harley-riding Vietnam Vet. To say the least, it made for an interesting dynamic.

A nerd, I collected long words. The first one was "antidisestablishmentarianism" in 3rd grade. My 5th grade teacher, Mrs. Zuiker, called me "inquisitive" and "intuitive," and I decided the same year to either become a detective or a journalist. Becoming a creative writer, I've learned, involves these overlapping skill sets.

I started teaching college English to pay for my first graduate degree and ended up feeling so passionately about the profession that I never left.

I came late to travel but love it -- to learn about a people, a new place -- so I wander far and wide as often as possible, in search of an ecstatic experience, with my family or solo, serving when I am able.

My husband is fiction writer, Michael Poore; he, artist daughter Jianna, and I, call Northwest Indiana, the state's wild child and Chicago's ugly stepchild, home.