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WELCOME, READERS!
Paula is a reader, writer, drinker of strong coffee and an all-around slave to public education. She majored in English, taught junior high and high school and earned an MFA in Fiction Writing from the University of Southern Maine. These days, she splits her time between teaching (at the University of California, Merced), chatting about writing whenever she has a chance, and staring at a laptop screen for uninterrupted hours. Her novels include Here We Lie (2018), The Drowning Girls, The Fragile World and The Mourning Hours. She lives in Northern California with Will and their four-legged brood. |
A SOMEWHAT LESS OFFICIAL BIO/TIMELINE OF EVENTS.
1976.
I was born. There’s a whole story here, and if you track her down, my mom will tell you. Seriously, she used to leave rambling story-of-my-birth messages on my answering machine, back when I had an answering machine. On my last birthday, a pandemic birthday, she came to my drive-by party, emerged from her minivan, and regaled us with the story.
I was born. There’s a whole story here, and if you track her down, my mom will tell you. Seriously, she used to leave rambling story-of-my-birth messages on my answering machine, back when I had an answering machine. On my last birthday, a pandemic birthday, she came to my drive-by party, emerged from her minivan, and regaled us with the story.
1980ish.
I learned to read. I’m not sure when this actually happened, because I have no memories of not being able to read. But at some point we went from my parents and older sisters reading to me to me reading for myself, and this is really the seminal moment of my life, so I should stop this bio here. (But I won’t.)
I learned to read. I’m not sure when this actually happened, because I have no memories of not being able to read. But at some point we went from my parents and older sisters reading to me to me reading for myself, and this is really the seminal moment of my life, so I should stop this bio here. (But I won’t.)
1985.
I moved to California from Ohio, with my parents and three sisters. We drove in two vehicles, chatting via CB radio. I still live in California, and still complain bitterly to anyone who will listen about the ridiculous heat of a Central Valley summer.
Also, I wrote my first novel. It was exactly as good as you would expect a novel written by a nine-year-old to be, which is to say that my mom had to spell a lot of words for me, the story was incredibly dramatic, and the heroine was a lot like me (beautiful but misunderstood).
I moved to California from Ohio, with my parents and three sisters. We drove in two vehicles, chatting via CB radio. I still live in California, and still complain bitterly to anyone who will listen about the ridiculous heat of a Central Valley summer.
Also, I wrote my first novel. It was exactly as good as you would expect a novel written by a nine-year-old to be, which is to say that my mom had to spell a lot of words for me, the story was incredibly dramatic, and the heroine was a lot like me (beautiful but misunderstood).
1990-1994.
I went to high school, where it became clear what I was good at (writing, gossiping) and what I wasn’t (higher math, following the rules). I played some sports, but not very well, and I worked part-time at McDonalds. Fifteen, sixteen and seventeen-year-old me wrote a lot of questionable poetry.
I went to high school, where it became clear what I was good at (writing, gossiping) and what I wasn’t (higher math, following the rules). I played some sports, but not very well, and I worked part-time at McDonalds. Fifteen, sixteen and seventeen-year-old me wrote a lot of questionable poetry.
1994-1998.
I went to college, starting as a journalism major and switching to English. I fell in love with writing, and I found my people. In 1997, I had a half-blind date with a guy I knew from years back who had just returned from Greece and wanted to show me his photos. Reader, I married him (I mean, eventually). I graduated from college with only a vague idea of what I wanted to do with my life, other than write.
I went to college, starting as a journalism major and switching to English. I fell in love with writing, and I found my people. In 1997, I had a half-blind date with a guy I knew from years back who had just returned from Greece and wanted to show me his photos. Reader, I married him (I mean, eventually). I graduated from college with only a vague idea of what I wanted to do with my life, other than write.
2000.
I got married. It’s been 20 years now, and Will is still the best person I know.
But also, to be real, he has never really learned to rinse dishes properly.
I got married. It’s been 20 years now, and Will is still the best person I know.
But also, to be real, he has never really learned to rinse dishes properly.
2001-2009.
I taught high school English. At times it was the hardest job I could imagine, but I loved it. There was a nagging little voice inside my head that told me I was supposed to be writing—and in eight years, I wrote exactly two short stories. But I learned a whole lot about teaching, most of the time through trial and error, and I met more of my people. (My dear EGs!)
Somewhere in here (2005?), I got Baxter—a six-week-old floppy-eared beagle, who has been my constant companion. He’s read all my first drafts and claims to have loved them.
I taught high school English. At times it was the hardest job I could imagine, but I loved it. There was a nagging little voice inside my head that told me I was supposed to be writing—and in eight years, I wrote exactly two short stories. But I learned a whole lot about teaching, most of the time through trial and error, and I met more of my people. (My dear EGs!)
Somewhere in here (2005?), I got Baxter—a six-week-old floppy-eared beagle, who has been my constant companion. He’s read all my first drafts and claims to have loved them.
2008-2010.
Since I clearly needed a deadline if I was going to get any writing done, I went to grad school and earned my MFA in fiction writing. It was an expensive decision, but it was the right one, as I was clearly not going to do this writing thing on my own. Also, I found more of my people, and it turned out those people liked to play Yatzhee and drink Gewürztraminer as much as I did.
Since I clearly needed a deadline if I was going to get any writing done, I went to grad school and earned my MFA in fiction writing. It was an expensive decision, but it was the right one, as I was clearly not going to do this writing thing on my own. Also, I found more of my people, and it turned out those people liked to play Yatzhee and drink Gewürztraminer as much as I did.
2013.
I became a pet parent again when a scruffy black-and-white dog showed up in our lives and refused to leave. The vet named her for us—Little Girl DeBoard, which is the equivalent of Jane Doe in dog names—and “LG” stuck. Since this time, LG has burrowed her way into our hearts (and under the covers, where she sleeps with us every night).
Also THE MOURNING HOURS, my labor of love for the last four years, was published.
Between Baxter and LG and the book, I became the happiest person ever.
I became a pet parent again when a scruffy black-and-white dog showed up in our lives and refused to leave. The vet named her for us—Little Girl DeBoard, which is the equivalent of Jane Doe in dog names—and “LG” stuck. Since this time, LG has burrowed her way into our hearts (and under the covers, where she sleeps with us every night).
Also THE MOURNING HOURS, my labor of love for the last four years, was published.
Between Baxter and LG and the book, I became the happiest person ever.
2014.
For research purposes (I love the phrase “for research purposes”), Will and I flew to Cleveland, rented a car, and made a madcap drive back to California. It’s the same roadtrip (although without the crazed revenge motive) that Curtis and Olivia take in the novel THE FRAGILE WORLD, which published at the end of the year.
It remains incredibly disappointing that I haven’t figured out how to set a novel in Bali and finagle myself a trip there. (For research purposes.)
For research purposes (I love the phrase “for research purposes”), Will and I flew to Cleveland, rented a car, and made a madcap drive back to California. It’s the same roadtrip (although without the crazed revenge motive) that Curtis and Olivia take in the novel THE FRAGILE WORLD, which published at the end of the year.
It remains incredibly disappointing that I haven’t figured out how to set a novel in Bali and finagle myself a trip there. (For research purposes.)
2015.
I got a job teaching writing at UC Merced. It’s the best job in the world, and I’m not even saying that because my employers might stumble upon this page at some point.
Also, in a weird confluence of events, I found myself teaching part-time at my old job, teaching part-time at my new job with the long commute, putting my manuscript through some serious last-minute revisions and in short doing all the things at once. The white streak in my hair—not nearly as lovely as Stacey London’s, but that’s the general idea—dates from this time.
I got a job teaching writing at UC Merced. It’s the best job in the world, and I’m not even saying that because my employers might stumble upon this page at some point.
Also, in a weird confluence of events, I found myself teaching part-time at my old job, teaching part-time at my new job with the long commute, putting my manuscript through some serious last-minute revisions and in short doing all the things at once. The white streak in my hair—not nearly as lovely as Stacey London’s, but that’s the general idea—dates from this time.
L-R: Del Howison (owner of Dark Delicacies bookstore in Burbank--go visit!), writers Paul Tremblay, Amy Lukavics, Jonathan Maberry, Paula Treick DeBoard, Tosca Lee, Thomas Olde Heuvelt.
2016.
THE DROWNING GIRLS published.
That summer, I was on a panel on horror writing at Comic-Con, which has given me a weird sort of street cred with my students and my husband’s friends.
THE DROWNING GIRLS published.
That summer, I was on a panel on horror writing at Comic-Con, which has given me a weird sort of street cred with my students and my husband’s friends.
2017.
I did a bunch of messed-up things to first one knee, then the other, beginning with the time I was coming off a ladder and missed a rung and heard a loud pop. What followed was two rounds of PT, a surgery that kept me off my feet for six long weeks, not one but two torn meniscuses (menisci? I should know this) and the times I relocated my dislocated kneecap by myself. Also, I learned that people are lovely and kind and helpful, but that really no one wants to hear the story of someone else's messed-up knee.
I did a bunch of messed-up things to first one knee, then the other, beginning with the time I was coming off a ladder and missed a rung and heard a loud pop. What followed was two rounds of PT, a surgery that kept me off my feet for six long weeks, not one but two torn meniscuses (menisci? I should know this) and the times I relocated my dislocated kneecap by myself. Also, I learned that people are lovely and kind and helpful, but that really no one wants to hear the story of someone else's messed-up knee.
2018.
HERE WE LIE published. I didn’t know when I was writing it that it would tap into the heart of the #metoo movement, but I’m honored to have contributed my small part.
Also, I learned I was allergic to sriracha, after using it as dipping sauce and breaking out into hives. (Special thanks to Will for his late-night Benadryl run.)
HERE WE LIE published. I didn’t know when I was writing it that it would tap into the heart of the #metoo movement, but I’m honored to have contributed my small part.
Also, I learned I was allergic to sriracha, after using it as dipping sauce and breaking out into hives. (Special thanks to Will for his late-night Benadryl run.)
2020.
After a year of planning, miles and miles of practice walking, clearing our schedule and purchasing plane tickets, our walk on the Camino France was cancelled due to the coronavirus. As a means of digging myself out of what threatens to be a very dark place, I started the #AnotherCamino blog.
After a year of planning, miles and miles of practice walking, clearing our schedule and purchasing plane tickets, our walk on the Camino France was cancelled due to the coronavirus. As a means of digging myself out of what threatens to be a very dark place, I started the #AnotherCamino blog.
