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.

My love of words started with President Dwight D. Eisenhower. Watching his speeches on TV as a little girl, I was bowled over by the big words he used. Words, I suspect, like deficit, congressional inquiry, and fiscal responsibility, words still being heard in D.C . . . . I wanted to be able to use big words too, though not necessarily those. Sure, sure, my mother reading to me as a child deserves some credit. But, really, it all started with Ike.