Ann Tracy Marr

romance author

The author

A biography of the author. This is more frightening than writing a book and publishing it. With a novel, I put my ideas in front of you to judge. That is not the same as talking about myself. Oh, no, not at all. Now, you are judging me.


I am Ann Tracy Marr. There isn't much to tell: Forever sixty-ish, married, kids out of the nest. Hobbies include genealogy, reading, and needlepoint. Like many OLD people, I define myself by my ailments. I limp. My advice is to not put a hole in a tendon in your ankle, even a teeny tiny one. It'll never be the same again. My chest is no longer symetrical. Don't get breast cancer. It messes you up. And don't bother coloring the gray hair. People will just try to guess what your color was when you were in elementary school.

Most people would say I'm boring, I am afraid.

As I get older, I get funnier. Daughter Two noticed it first, then it spread to others. Guess I'm not afraid of what people say after all.

I keep up with the natural world via felines. Our old lady cat Tigerlily, she who went blind, died. Bart sulked with Tigerlily gone, so I finally broke down and found Jessie James, who was trying to escape a cell at the vet's. Jessie is now bouncing around Bart and making him growl. The next cat is seventeen year old Sweet Sibley, who lives in Chicago with Daughter One. Hey, it wasn't my idea, but that's where the job is. Sometimes it is a toss-up who I miss more, but Sibley purrs when I am on speaker phone. The fourth cat is not precisely mine -- Arwen is Daughter One's -- but hey, if I want to claim her, I will. So make it four cats. We abound in cat dander.

Daughter Two moved to the east coast. She grumbles about missing cats, but thankfully hasn't done anything about it. Yet.

Dull, right? I warned you. I'm just the person next door. Nothing exciting. Except locked away in my head - and now making its way into the world - is a romantic alternate reality. England's Regency period (think Pride and Prejudice) has gotten mixed up with a bit of magic left over from King Arthur's Camelot. Not heavy on the fantasy, mind you. Magic isn't something everyone does, and when they do it, it's secret. If you like Regency romances, my world won't upset you. Every once in a while you even get a peek at Prinny and Lady Jersey. It is a chance to enjoy what could have been our past if Merlin had been real.

BTW - there is magic older than Merlin. The Green Man is alive and cranky.

A note: I have been scolded for not putting an address book on this web site. There are two reasons why you can't find one.

1) A decent looking guestbook is beyond my capabilities. Bah.

2) Guestbooks are raided by hackers. Humbug.

Don't look for one here.

But please feel free to email me at

Ann Tracy Marr @ aol . com

(take out the spaces before you click SEND)