I had spent my whole life feeling homesick. The only difference between the two of us was that I didn't know what or where home was.

I'm proud of what I write and feel endorsed by my readers.

So I'm back again to the eternal question, the one that has plagued me all my life: How Do Other People Do It? How come they were given life's rule book and I missed out? Where was I when God was dispensing capability and cop on? Looking at shoes, probably.

I knew it, I just knew it! The person who had the job of writing my life's dialogue used to work on a very low budget soap opera.

When God closes one door, He slams another in your face

I haven’t had Botox because my face is a bit lopsided and I depend on keeping everything animated so that people don’t notice.

I used to feel defensive when people would say, 'Yes, but your books have happy endings', as if that made them worthless, or unrealistic. Some people do get happy endings, even if it's only for a while. I would rather never be published again than write a downbeat ending.