Optimism can be relearnt.
I'm proud of what I write and feel endorsed by my readers.
Political correctness is a minefield
Nothing sinister. Just getting exercise. Although some might consider that sinister.
Hen nights should be banned. You're honour-bound to behave atrociously, then feel terribly ashamed afterwards. (This Charming Man)
I've never made a secret of the fact that I'd have loved to have children.
Why do we have such a finite capacity for pleasure but an infinite one for pain?
Failed relationships can be described as so much wasted makeup. Forget the laughs, forget the fights, forget the sex, forget the jealousy. But take off your hat and observe a moment's silence for the legions of unknown tubes of foundation, mascara, eyeliner, blusher and lipstick who died that it might all have been possible. But who died in vain.
There's no doubt that relationships do suffer when circumstances change profoundly.
My friend Kathy is the only person who'll be halfway honest with me. 'Did you ever see a cowboy film, where someone has been caught by the Indians and tied between two wild stallions, each pulling in opposite directions?' she asked.I nodded mutely.'That's a bit what giving birth is like.
I used to write in bed, starting when I woke up. I believe that creative work comes from our subconscious mind, so I try to keep the gap between sleep and writing as minimal as possible.
I think denial's fascinating. It's a jokey word, but it really happens, and sometimes in enormous ways.
For all of my life it was the size of my rear that caused me the most hand-wringing, but in this nearly-50 zone it is my stomach that is the problem. It seems to have broken free from its moorings and there is no knowing how far it will roam.
Waiting to be 'better' is the wrong approach. It's learning to live with it.
I still get awful depression. It's who I am.
Do I mind being called a chick-lit writer? Well, it's not the worst thing that could happen.
I knew it, I just knew it! The person who had the job of writing my life's dialogue used to work on a very low budget soap opera.
I know of people who don't believe it, but depression is an illness, but unlike, say, a broken leg, you don't know when it'll get better.
I haven’t had Botox because my face is a bit lopsided and I depend on keeping everything animated so that people don’t notice.
Every day I wake up afraid that I won't be able to write, that today is the day it has left me.
For feel-good fiction to work, there has to be an element of darkness.
Besides, I'd seen a really nice pair of shoes yesterday in the mall and I wanted them for my own. I can't describe the feeling of immediate familiarity that rushed between us. The moment I clapped eyes on them I felt like I already owned them. I could only suppose that we were together in a former life. That they were my shoes when I was a serving maid in medieval Britain or when I was a princess in ancient Egypt. Or perhaps they were the princess and I was the shoes. Who's to know? Either way I knew that we were meant to be together.
I am prone to despair. We are all born with a particular personality. I get afraid and then I don't want to leave the house.
I rang my mother to thank her for giving birth to me and she said, "What choice had I? You were in there, how else were you going to get out?
I don't like this idea of division: that if you're a clever woman then you've got to be a particular way. Because men don't. Men please themselves.
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