In my long, long years toiling around the publishing industry, I've found that women simply don't stick to the writing with the same fervor that men do.

Hatred is the air I breathe. It permeates every cell in my body.

I'm arrogant enough to tell you that I'm smart enough to have scored higher on my Scholastic Aptitude Test than any US president whose SAT score has been made public. I even scored higher than ex-presidential candidate Al Gore, whose SAT score was so high, it was deemed as potentially off-putting to voters.

I prefer for a woman's most private of areas to have as much hair as Carlos Santana's entire band, head to toe, circa 1972.

My oldest brother was stabbed thirty to forty times and strangled to death with his own belt when I was eight years old. Much of my life has been pockmarked with violence. So I had a natural interest in the topic, along with a strong home-field advantage.

Negative opinions about me don't faze me unless I respect the person giving the opinion, which is rare. And if it's someone I respect, I usually take heed of what they're saying. But if I don't respect them, which I usually don't, what's the point?

As I view it, spending over two years in a cage is far worse than having your face pounded and dealing with a black eye for a week or two.