Have you ever felt too accustomed to something because you’ve thought about it too much? Like being alone at home with no one around, deep in thought, suddenly aware that the causes of your stress, hurt, and sadness clouding your mind as a headache have all vanished. Maybe you haven’t yet solved this problem, you just accepted it, dealt with it, because you got used to it. The problem may only affect a few people like at work, something personal with your partner, or maybe they’re bigger than society itself. You know you can’t do it alone.

I can’t really remember when I started writing. Or when I began reading. I do remember for a really long time, I hated them both. I would like to say that writing, or even reading, came naturally to me. I would like to say that I came out of the womb eloquently spoken. Well, my mother would claim that. But I didn’t. In fact, reading and writing were both a challenge for me. I love them now! I marvel at all the possibilities that could come of them both. But when I began, I was truly no good at either.

The advice is to write what you know. I wrote a novel about a twenty-something-year-old woman in 1938 America struggling to become an animator in a man’s world. But do I know enough to write convincingly?

I’m Australian. Born in 1967. And not an animator. But on the other hand, I’m a woman who’s experienced sexism, I’m a visual artist, and I’ve been involved in political and social movements for the betterment of society. So, thematically, what I know is reflected in the book.