The second most exciting thing in life for me has always been learning something new. The first? Getting to share what I’ve learned with others. My life has given me so many opportunities to do both—as a professor (retired), as a historical novelist, and as a cruise lecturer.

My goal as a historical novelist is to provide you, the reader, with high-quality fiction about women and the forgotten and undervalued roles they played in their societies. Whether it’s the real-life physicist Emilie du Chatelet, the literary heroine Penelope, or women who have sprung entirely from my imagination, I offer you stories true to the facts of a time and place, to bring history alive for you and make you feel as much a part of other cultures as you do your own.

As a world-wide lecturer for several cruise lines, I use my career as a college professor of humanities to find the stories that make travel more exciting and memorable.

If you have either met me recently or been in my life since I was a teenager (or younger), you may know me by my birth name, Laurel Weeks.  I have been using this name in my private life for several years.

Please check back from time to time for updates on my new projects and schedule, and drop me a line at lacauthor@gmail.com to let me know you’re out there reading and traveling!

From my diary

  • Not a Contest but a Doorway
    Praying It doesn’t have to bethe blue iris, it could beweeds in a vacant lot,or a few small stones; justpay attention, and then patch a few words together and don’t tryto make them elaborate; this isn’ta contest, but the doorway into thanks and a silence in whichanother voice may speak. –Mary Oliver It’s a mixed bag having a blog. It makes me feel obligated to have something to say, and often I don’t. And then again, when I ask myself “don’t you have something to say about all this?” often I discover that I do. This poem reminds me that…
  • Only Have Real Problems
    I dont know why, but I hate getting wet. I dont mind being wet; I just hate the experience of getting there Sure, I’ll wade ankle deep on a beach, or dangle my hand from the side of a sailboat, but immersion is something I avoid, and do not—I repeat NOT!—splash me, squirt me, or even drizzle me just because you think its fun. I may politely pretend I’m okay, but secretly I want to strangle you. I have often wondered if I may have had a near-drowning incident that I was too young to remember, or—when I let my…
  • The Sacred and the Ordinary
    When I am visiting an island by car, my attention is always drawn to roads that go all the way to the water’s edge at the island’s extremities. I don’t really much care if there is anything in particular to see when I pull up at that final stop sign. After all, it is the journey I’m focusing on, not the destination. I had that kind of day, driving from the tiny village of Sturgies Bay at the southern end of Galiano Island to the northern end, where the road ends at the boundary of a marine reserve that can…