'More than 20 million copies of her books are in print, in 18 languages. Her books, most in the historical fiction and romance novel genre, have been on the New York Times best seller list seven times...
'She described herself as "a native of Texas who grew up in Oklahoma, married a Yankee and moved to Clear Lake."
'She worked for 14 years as a writer and bookkeeper for the Clear Lake Mirror Reporter. In the summer of 1976, she and her husband, Herb, went on a trip south for the winter and, though she didn't know it at the time, it was the start of her writing career.
'In retelling the story later, Garlock said she was bored to death because "there was nothing to do but play shuffleboard and go to potlucks."
'So she went to a second-hand store, bought a manual typewriter for $50 and wrote an entire book that winter. She came home and, on a lark, entered it into a contest, and won. One of the contest judges, an agent, sold the book to a publisher, thus beginning her long career as an author.
'Though all of her books were fiction, she was a stickler for detail. She once placed a call from her home in Clear Lake to the Louisiana State Police in Baton Rouge to ask what color uniforms they wore. It was a small detail in one of her books but she wanted to get it right.
'Garlock maintained a wry sense of humor all of her life but was protective about some things. Asked by an interviewer several years ago about her earnings, she said smugly, "I do all right."
'She said one of the advantages of being a writer is "you always have something to do when you get up in the morning."
'Her advice to young writers: "Start. You'll never get anything done unless you start -- and don't rely on family and friends to tell you whether your work is good. You know what they'll say."
'An interviewer once asked her to describe the satisfaction she gets from her work. She said she knows, "Somewhere in the world, there is someone sitting on a toilet reading one of my books."'
River of Tomorrow (2001) may be represenative of her work.
'....Above the ticking of the mantel clock, Mercy heard another noise. It was not the tree scraping on the roof or the creaking of timbers. It came from outside the door. She sat quietly, her ears alerted anxiously for a repetition ... It sounded like a cat. The only cat that had been in the house was Mary Elizabeth's cat, Blackbird, and he had disappeared months ago. Mercy's mind went wild. Robbers had learned from the Indians to imitate a turkey or some other fowl to decoy a victim. She had never heard of one imitating a cat...Yet...was it a trick to get her to open the door...By the time she reached the door her hands were sweating on the pistol...As she cautiously eased the door open an inch, a loud purring began...Relief made her...weak.
'...The cat seemed larger than she remembered...He purred...tilted his head to look at her, sweeping the floor with his majestic tail..."Are you coming in or not", Mercy asked with a laugh... "Mary Elizabeth... cried you know, when you couldn't be found...'''
'Her advice to young writers: "Start. You'll never get anything done unless you start -- and don't rely on family and friends to tell you whether your work is good. You know what they'll say."
'An interviewer once asked her to describe the satisfaction she gets from her work. She said she knows, "Somewhere in the world, there is someone sitting on a toilet reading one of my books."'
River of Tomorrow (2001) may be represenative of her work.
'....Above the ticking of the mantel clock, Mercy heard another noise. It was not the tree scraping on the roof or the creaking of timbers. It came from outside the door. She sat quietly, her ears alerted anxiously for a repetition ... It sounded like a cat. The only cat that had been in the house was Mary Elizabeth's cat, Blackbird, and he had disappeared months ago. Mercy's mind went wild. Robbers had learned from the Indians to imitate a turkey or some other fowl to decoy a victim. She had never heard of one imitating a cat...Yet...was it a trick to get her to open the door...By the time she reached the door her hands were sweating on the pistol...As she cautiously eased the door open an inch, a loud purring began...Relief made her...weak.
'...The cat seemed larger than she remembered...He purred...tilted his head to look at her, sweeping the floor with his majestic tail..."Are you coming in or not", Mercy asked with a laugh... "Mary Elizabeth... cried you know, when you couldn't be found...'''
Her attention to feline behavior is not noteworthy, but Garlock sounds like an interesting lady.
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