Imagine if you succeeded in making the world perfect for your children what a shock the rest of life would be for them.

As for me, I've chosen to follow a simple course: Come clean. And wherever possible, live your life in a way that won't leave you tempted to lie. Failing that, I'd rather be disliked for who I truly am than loved for who I am not. So, I tell my story. I write it down. I even publish it. Sometimes this is a humbling experience. Sometimes it's embarrassing. But I haul around no terrible secrets.

The silence was part of the story I wanted to tell.

I have long observed that the act of writing is viewed, by some, as an elite and otherworldly act, all the more so if a person isn't paid for what she writes.

If I told you about all the stories I don't tell, I would be violating the very boundaries I set for myself.

The portrait of my parents is a complicated one, but lovingly drawn.

There is a theme that runs through my work, and that is: the toxic property of keeping secrets.