I was born in New York City in 1844 and died in London in 1921.
In the late eighteen-sixties, orphaned and having the need to support my widowed sister’s family, I forced my way into being a peripatetic freelance feature writer for the New York Interviewer and other periodicals and occasional publications.
In Henry James’s famous novel, The Portrait of a Lady, the author pays me two compliments (although his descriptions of me in his Preface are sometimes scathing), he describes me as a ‘celebrated authoress’ and suggests that I am a role model, as you call it these days, for his novel’s heroine, Isabel Archer Osmond.
At that time I had only my first novel published and I have a plan to edit and republish that work through my editing agent, Jimpy, who has embarked on the task of bringing to light those works of mine which I believe merit some further illumination. Between us we will be standing the term ‘ghost writer’ upon its head, as I am the ‘ghost’ whose name will be on the books.
From a pencil sketch by