I came up with a story and I wrote it.

Never trust a man who can dance.

The candle flame is too hot. It flickers and dances in the over-warm breeze, a breeze that brings no respite from the heat. Soft gossamer wings flutter to and fro in the dark, sprinkling dusty scaled in the circle of light. I'm struggling to resist, but I'm drawn. And then it's to bright, and I am flying too close to the sun, dazzled by the light, fried and melting from the heat, weary in my endeavers to stay airborn. I am so warm. The heat... It's stiffling, overpowering. It wakes me.

I do not look at the world in terms of black and white - and I find people who do rather scary. I think it's all shades of grey.

I've set the bar quite high in terms of storytelling.

It's very hard to grow up in a perfect family when you're not perfect.

God forbid that women have fantasies.