From www.stepheniemeyer.com, Stephanie tells her bio :

"I was born in Connecticut in 1973, during a brief blip in my family's otherwise western U.S. existence. We were settled in Phoenix by the time I was four, so, considering that I have twenty-seven Arizona summers under my belt, I think of myself as a native. The unusual spelling of my name was a gift from my father, Stephen ( + ie = me ). Though I have had my name spelled wrong on pretty much everything my entire life long, I must admit that it makes it easier to google myself now.

I filled the "Jan Brady" spot in my family-the second of three girls. Unlike the Brady's, none of my three brothers are steps, and all of them are younger than all the girls. My big sister was, however, very similar to Marcia (only instead of being self-absorbed and vain, she was sweet and shy, which made her all the more perfect-Emily, Emily, Emily!!), and we did have a dog named after a non-canine animal (Eagle, in this case). We never had a maid, so my mom is clearly superior to Florence Henderson's character, and also has a better singing voice.

I went to high school in Scottsdale, Arizona, the kind of place where every fall a few girls would come back to school with new noses and there were Porsches in the student lot (for the record, I have my original nose, and never had a car until after I was in my twenties). Our football team was renowned statewide-for having the highest average GPA. I was awarded a National Merit Scholarship, and I used it to pay my way to Brigham Young University, in Provo, Utah. On the list of the biggest party schools in the country, BYU consistently and proudly finishes dead last. I majored in English, but concentrated on literature rather than creative writing, mostly because I didn't consider reading books as work (as long as I was going to be doing something anyway, I might as well get course credit for it, right?). During my college years, I heard many lame jokes about English majors' future careers in the food services industries, and to all the people who made those jokes, I now say, "Ha, ha" (to be heard in the voice of Nelson Muntz).

I met my husband, Pancho (his real name is Christiaan, but no one calls him that-it's not a long story, but it is a stupid one, so I'll skip it), when I was four, but we were never anywhere close to being childhood sweethearts. In fact, though we saw each other at least weekly through church activities, I can't recall a single instance when we