Photo by Sheila Onkst of Appalachian Photography
Marsha has been involved in some form with reading and writing most all her life. Having taught a variety of college English courses, spanning the range of composition to British literature and world literature, she is a published poet and essayist. But she did not try her hand at writing a novel until the mid 1990's when the idea for her reincarnation romance, A Still Point in Time, came to her in a dream. From this dream emerged a haunting and deep-seated conviction that the characters she created in A Still Point in Time had indeed known one another in the past.

Soon after she completed her first novel, the idea of re-visiting the ancient Greek Phaedra myth struck Marsha as she was teaching Racine's 17th century play entitled Phaedra. Thus sprang the beginnings of her second novel, A Family Matter, which brings the rudiments of an ancient myth into a 1990's eastern Kentucky setting.

Marsha is a member of World Romance Writers, L-Edit Slip, and Books We Love. The proud mother of three grown sons, she lives in Kentucky with her life-time soul-mate husband and three dogs. In her spare time, she enjoys tennis, golf, and piano.

Marsha is delighted to be a part of Whiskey Creek Press Publishing where she works as Senior Editor.

Marsha's writer mantra: Never give up your dream!

Marsha is very proud that her sonnet "Of Eros and Psyche" earned her the honor of being voted as one of the top 10 best Poets published in 2001. Read it here below:

Of Eros and Psyche

When you are rent by age and time, pull out these lines
And think of those whose love you could not quell.
I, who saw you once, knew you and fell
Beneath your charm like a leaf in homage to autumn's signs.
Now never ends this ill-met love that binds
Its merciless grip has trapped me in your spell
And chases at me through the night where dwell
Those phantom hours that choke like twisted vines.
Sweet sleep that calms the frazzled edge of care
Turned false seducer--brings dreams of you with me.
Come not that sleep, for in such state lies perfidy.
Yet swathed in silk a sound consumes the air:
Your voice flows gentle, soft--with breeze caressed--
It touches me like velvet chords strummed across my breast.

Marsha Briscoe

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