I live in a village where people still care about each other, largely.

Publishing is, by its nature, about deadlines, and deadlines are toxic.

Even the roughest character, underneath all that hurt, is someone who wants to love and be loved.

I have raced against the clock since I went into advertising at the age of eighteen.

For a very long time, I wrote a book a year, and was eager and willing to do it, to put bread on the table, to have my work out there. Now I must write a book every two years, and that's never enough time, either.

My life is extremely full and wretchedly busy, and I feel that while my life drains energy from my work, my work in turn drains energy from my life. The result is, I am always playing catch-up spiritually. That is my thorn.