About

Here’s who I am…

Although I attended four high schools: Ferndale, Michigan—seven months, Palo Alto, California—four months; Birmingham Michigan—two years; and San Mateo, California—three months, I’m a high school drop out.

Before I was twenty-four, I had moved twenty-one times. Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s all food for the laptop.

I’ve had two husbands—both named John (which prevents confusion). The first one was nice, the second one’s a keeper. I have a daughter, a son, two stepdaughters, six grandchildren, a daughter-in-law, and two sons-in-law.

In grade school I wanted to be an architect, a justification for chopping up cardboard boxes. In high school I wanted to be an illustrator, or a writer, or a painter, or a wife and mom.

After I was a wife and mom, I also wanted to be smart, so I took night classes and spent several hundred credit hours at Oakland Community College, Wayne State University and The College For Creative Studies. I was good at writing and good at art (my teachers said so). I wrote newspaper articles and a children’s book that were published. And two novels and ten children’s books that weren’t.

Once I had a job as an editor, but I wanted to be in the art department, so I became a graphic designer. I did that for a long time—years and years and years (decades). I loved the work and handled the stress. Then I got breast cancer, decided life might be short, and started painting full time. There were art galleries, and art shows, and art fairs. When I got tired of doing that, I went back to writing. This time around: novels and memoirs.

And that’s what I’m doing now. For two weeks in the summer I write in an old trailer at John’s family farm in Wisconsin. The rest of the time I write in Michigan, where I can see the Detroit Zoo water tower from my window.

Lynn Arbor—Writer

Latest Post

Stolen Treasures

Robin Hood and his merry men stole from the rich and gave to the poor. It’s a made-up story.

And now we have Robbing Donald and his band of thieves. Stealing from the poor, and the ordinary regular folks—us—to give to the very rich. This isn’t a story.

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