MEGHAN Holloway
Author, Librarian, Researcher

“My dearest darling…” That was how my grandfather began all of his letters to my grandmother while he was stationed in Okinawa in World War II. I never knew my grandfather, but I’ve poured over his letters. I used to draw lines up the back of my legs, just as my grandmother had as a young woman whose nylons had been donated to make parachutes, and I’ve endlessly pestered my paternal grandfather for stories of his childhood and service. The worn letters and patiently-told stories cemented my interest in history, especially in the WWII era.
I found my first Nancy Drew mystery in a sun-dappled attic at a friend’s house and subsequently fell in love with the grip and tautness of a well-told mystery.
I flew an airplane before I learned how to drive a car; did my undergrad work in a crumbling once-all girls’ school in the sweltering south; spent a summer and fall in Maine picking peaches and apples; traveled the world for a few years; and finished a masters in a once-all girls’ school in the blustery north. Now I’m writing my third novel (my first venture into historical fiction), hanging out with my standard poodle, and spending my days as a scientist with the requisite glasses but minus the lab coat.