When I was a little girl, I had an aunt who would tell me the most wonderful fairy stories - all her own creation. I recall being so completely fascinated by this gift that I pestered the life out of the poor woman. But she always obliged with yet another tale. Some people are special in the life of a child.
I grew up, as little girls do, but the love of stories has never left me. I told stories at parties, I told stories to my children, I told stories to my students and I told stories to myself. I'd often fall asleep weaving some magic tale in my head. I invented secret sagas that continued for years. Given that I'd moved worlds away from the innocence of fairies at the bottom of the garden, I had to really dare myself to write them down!
I remain an incurable romantic. I love happy endings, heart-pounding adventure and the eventual triumph of good over evil. All hail the guys in the white hats, I say - unless the ones wearing black are more...um... interesting?
And now? I live in a comfortable, messy old house in the Australian suburbs with my darling husband of more-years-than-I-care-to-remember. And yes, I know how lucky I am. I have one of everything that matters - one husband, one son, one daughter, one dog, one cat and, thank heavens, one cleaning lady. I'm small and noisy and dreadfully uncoordinated. I tend to wave my hands around a lot, which can be unfortunate if the tale I'm telling happens to have explosions in it!
And I love, love, LOVE red shoes! Tarty, slutty, sex-on-wheels hussy heels!
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