Born on Corpus Christi, you can guess what inspired Christine McKay's parents to name her Christine. She attended parochial grade school, public high school and, apparently yearning for the nuns of her youth, a small Catholic college, all in northeastern Wisconsin. Armed with a bachelor's degree in computer science, she headed off into the then largely male-dominated database administration field. Yes, her life is as exciting as it sounds in those three sentences.
She's also ridden across lower Michigan largely on muleback, acquired her motorcycle license despite her husband's misgivings, completed her first (and probably only) 100-mile bicycle race, cut up her wedding dress to make Victorian lamp shades and, so far, has managed to not horribly mangle her body despite racking up a worrisome amount of miles on a motorcycle nearly as old as herself.
Christine's written as long as she can remember. Thanks to the recycling movement, hopefully all the early copies of her writing have long since been reprocessed as toilet paper. If not, you'll find she's written everything from angst-ridden teenage poetry to epic (and unending) fantasy novels, as well as nonfiction articles and, at present, contemporary and fantasy romance. Her best rejection letter arrived from a Playboy editor, who commented on how, while interesting, her nonfiction articles on goat ranching did not give her the foundation to write fiction in their magazine. Too bad. So sad. Hef missed his chance to "discover" her unique style of writing.
Christine still lives in Wisconsin, where the summers are too muggy, the mosquitoes are too thick and the winters have too much snow.