Humour's the pay-off for all that existential horror.

The blank page doesn't bother me. It's the voice in my head (not always my own) that gives me the yips. It's worse when I'm not making stuff up.

It's dark already and I'm out here again, talking, telling the story to the quiet night.

When I was a girl I had this strong feeling that I didn't belong anywhere,... It was in my head, what I thought and dreamt, what I believed..., that's where I belonged, that was my country.

It's funny, but you never really think much about breathing. Until it's all you ever think about.

Being afreaid proves you're alive and awake.

Hunting and gathering are in my blood. But I've lived long enough to witness a diminution in the seas, and to notice a fragility where once I saw - or assumed - an endless bounty.