The short version (appears at the back of most of my books):
In third grade, Diana wrote a
short, one-page story about a bear family. When her teacher handed it back, the
paper had a great big, red “A” on the top. The teacher said to her, “This is
very good. You ought to be a writer.” And in the concrete-thinking way of third
graders, Diana knew she’d just found the career she was to follow.
Of course, she doubts her
third grade teacher envisioned the genre Diana would choose. After complaining
about not finding BDSM-themed stories that focused on the relationship rather
than just the sex, Diana was challenged by a friend to write one of her own.
The rest is just fun reading.
Diana resides in the Finger
Lakes area of New York State and is grateful for the support of her husband and
two adult children.
The looong version (written specifically for this website):
Well, that all depends on who the “me” is that we’re talking
about. I was born with one name, added another surname when I married, chose a
pen name when I sold my first story, and chose a second pen name when I wrote a
dark story that didn’t fit the public persona of my first pen name. But I also
answer to “Kate and Ben’s Mom” and “Steve’s wife,” so—which Me are we talking
about again?
“The naming of cats is a
practical matter...” T.S. Elliot
My father named me Cynthia. It wasn’t his first choice. He
preferred the name Susan, but my mom didn’t like the nickname “Suzie.” So she
nixed the name and he chose “Cynthia” instead. He got her back, though. When I
was very little, he called me “Suzie Q” just to bug her. I liked the fact that
my dad called me a name that was just his.
To be honest, though, “Cynthia” is too formal for everyday
use. My teachers used it all through grade school and I never had the guts to
tell them to call me by my nickname: Cindy. Not until the first day of high
school when my math teacher made us all introduce ourselves and said, “If you
use a nickname, know it will be with you for the next four years, so choose one
you like.” I screwed up my courage and introduced myself as Cindy for the first
time in my life and she was right....it stuck!
Of course, my husband doesn’t use either of those names.
When we married, we started, in jest, to call each other pet names, laughing at
our own silliness. We should’ve known better. Names, even those given in play,
tend to stick. So we each became “Hon” or “Honey” – names we still use
thirty-nine years later.
But then I wrote an erotic romance—and it sold. I screamed
for him to come read the email sent by Ellora’s Cave and we sat in shock. After
years of writing, an editor bought one of my stories! My name would be in print
as a real-life, published author!!!
Oh, dear. My name would be in print as a real-life,
published author. Writing erotic romances with a BDSM kink. And I taught
English in a public high school in a very conservative district. And my husband
was well-known in the community as the director of several theatre programs for
high school students. Oh, dear.
Diana Hunter was born from that moment of realization. Why
that name? In Greek mythology, Cynthia is the daughter of Diana, who is the
hunter. Seemed a good pick. I came up with it in an afternoon and started a new
career with a new name. Besides which, I liked Madeline Hunter’s books (and one
of the highlights of my life was signing books beside her at a convention booksigning
where we were seated alphabetically. Talk about your squee! moments!!!).
Took a little getting used to, this new name. First
conventions I went to, I’d forget to answer to it. But I got over that and now
there are a whole lot of people who only know me by Diana.
And Diana’s a lot more fun than Cynthia, anyway. Diana likes
to party a bit, is willing to stay up late and chat, enjoys a good double
entendre and the occasional dance on the dance floor (no tables – she does have
some sense of propriety!). Diana
drives her family nuts when she refers to herself in the third person but they
don’t complain too loudly, since it’s Diana who helped them pay for college.
But life sometimes has difficult years. Death came visiting
and took some we expected and some we didn’t. Hard to write upbeat, happy books
when the soul is in mourning. The stories I wrote took a dark turn, reflecting
my dark moods. Mystic Shade was born, although her tag line “...for the shadier
sides of our desires...” and her tongue-in-cheek biography belie my innate
optimism. Mystic doesn’t make public appearances, although she enjoys the
darker writing on occasion. To keep things in perspective, Diana never refers
to herself as Mystic, nor does Cindy. Her family would definitely go nuts with
two third-person references.
Speaking of family, regardless of what name you call me, I
have two beautiful children: one girl and one boy. Okay, so now she’s a woman
and he’s a man. Darn kids. They have this way of growing up when you aren’t
looking. I’m still married to their father (remember him? He’s “Honey”. Or if
I’m pissed off, “Dear Heart”). I do like to brag on my husband. He’s a painter
and we’re both responsible for each other’s artistic endeavors.
How so, you ask? Well, let me tell you...
“Sometimes all you need is a good
push.” - Every mother, ever
The summer after my daughter was born, my husband said to
me, “We’re okay financially at the moment. Why don’t you not work this summer
and write that book you keep working on? You have too many scraps of paper
floating around with bits of story on them. Just put it together already.”
I kissed him. Hard. On the mouth.
That first book, partly workshopped through a site Del Ray
was running at the time, still sits in my computer, unfinished and unpublished.
It’s somewhere around 95,000 words long and is a fantasy about a young boy who
discovers his true parentage and goes out to make his fame and fortune. Parts
of it are pretty good. Parts of it are awful. But my husband gave me time to
learn that summer and every summer after.
So it was only fair that, several years back, I gave him an
oil painting beginner’s set for Christmas. I can’t tell you how many times I
heard, over the three decades we’d been together, “One of these days I’m going
to learn how to paint.” So I bought him that set.
But he didn’t paint. Not for three years. That set just sat
under the bed collecting dust. I finally asked him, after he gave the “one of
these days” line again, why he didn’t use the starter set. His answer? “Because
there’s only one canvas and what if I screw it up?”
Such a simple answer with such a simple way to correct the
problem. THAT Christmas, I bought him nearly a dozen canvases in all sorts of
sizes. I bought watercolor pads he could use for practice with hundreds of
sheets. I bought brushes and a gift certificate for paints. And when he opened
them that morning I said, “Shut up and paint.”
He now has a successful career as a painter, selling both
originals and prints in lots of sizes (Shameless cross promotion: CLICK HERE to
see his website and pictures. He takes commissions or you can order an
original).
“What do you want to be when you
grow up?” –the question all adults ask kids
Teaching wasn’t my first career choice. I wanted to be a
nurse and read the Sue Barton series over and over and over. Then, in 6th
grade, they showed us a film of a cornea transplant and I said, “Okay, not a
nurse. What’s next?”
Writer, of course. That 3rd grade teacher had told me I
should be one. Except the pay wasn’t very good, I discovered. And there weren’t
any benefits. My high school (Bishop Kearney—Go Kings!) was a college prep
school, and by my senior year, I’d settled on a much more practical career:
Acting.
I wanted to go to Hollywood and be on TV shows (the Dexter
movies with Kurt Russell was my first choice; Here Come the Brides, however, took over once Disney stopped making
the movies set at Medfield College). I went to an audition for the Rochester
Community Players and discovered I was awful. Got better as the years went by
and played the role of Guinevere in Camelot my senior year. Went to college for
Theatre but got my Secondary Certification in English at the same time. Met
this guy, fell in love, and decided to start a theatre company with him and two
others instead of going to Hollywood.
That theatre company, The Garden Players, performed for eight
seasons at at Sonnenburg Gardens, Canandaigua, NY. Yes, we worked other jobs in
the meantime (I sold furniture on commission – made squat because I was a lousy
saleswoman. I also worked at the Outdoor Store selling camping supplies and
sports stuff). Eventually, however, bills needed to be paid and I needed a job
that paid better than retail.
I’d already done two years of teaching junior high while
waiting for the man I loved to finish college (ask my husband—he’ll tell you.
He’s two years, eight months and one day younger than me). After my first year
of teaching, I was ready to quit. But I decided to give it one more year,
thinking nothing could be that bad two years in a row.
Wrong. I got married, moved away, got jobs in retail rather
than go back to the junior high classroom. I tell you, the people who teach
there are going for sainthood. They should get paid more than all the other
teachers because their job is so much harder. I’ve tried to do it. I know.
But those darn bills. Landlords actually think you need to
give them rent! The electric company doesn’t give away their electricity for
free, you know. So...back to the classroom as a substitute teacher.
Want to know the only job in education worse than teaching
junior high? Substitute teaching.
My motto became, “Anyone Can Do Anything For A Day.”
Even teach pre-first grade music.
But I found myself thinking, “If this were my classroom,
I’d....” ...arrange the room differently...teach the material
differently...conduct the class differently... And I let my friends know I
might be willing to give teaching another try – at the high school level only.
And that’s how I got my gig as a public school teacher,
teaching English, grades 9-12 for thirty years. In the same district. I figure,
over the course of those 33 years in total, nearly 4000 students sat before me.
If I didn’t screw them up too badly, I think I did a pretty good job of it.
And Hollywood? Yeah, dropped that dream for a better one. Got
me a husband I love, two beautiful children and a life I’m loving instead.
Retirement isn’t for sissies –
T-shirt slogan
On June 30, 2014, I retired from all that teaching. Just in
the nick of time, too. But the current state of education in the US is a
different discussion for a different day. Suffice it to say, I’m glad I’m out.
Yeah. I got to be retired about 34 days before the local
community college called and offered me an adjunct position. Two classes (6 hrs
a week). I took it, figuring it would keep me young.
And, of course, I now consider myself a full-time writer.
What I used to do, squeezed in between basketball practices and dance classes,
I could now do at my leisure. In the past twelve months, I’ve written three
full-length novels. Two are published under Mystic Shade’s name, the other is
waiting on Harlequin to pass or play (edited to add: they passed. Sigh.).
How does that stack up to past years when writing was only
my part-time job? The difference is in the length. Before I’d write shorter
stories to get three out in a year. Now I can write full novels in the same
time period. And the year isn’t over yet. I have two others half-finished (both
novellas) that might get done as well.
And of course, in my retirement, travel has become an
option. So has breaking my leg while traveling. We’ve remodeled two rooms,
continued work on the cabin, and, in the midst of this mayhem, my son got
married and divorced. Then my daughter got married. Life is as busy as it always was and I love it that way.
I’ll end this section with the words I end most posts with.
Words I feel strongly and live in many ways on many levels. Please take them to
heart.
Play safe!
Diana
