No Matter What Happens In Public—no Matter

As It Was, I Couldn't Escape The Feeling That I Was Out Of My Element. I Found Myself Thinking Of A Book I'd Left Half-read At Home And Wishing I'd Stuck It In My Purse So I Could Pull It Out Now.

I Dipped Into His Brain. He Wasn't Happy That I Wasn't Wearing A Bra, Because My Boobs Distracted Him. He Was Thinking I Was A Bit Too Curvy For His Taste. He Was Thinking He'd Better Not Think About Me That Way Anymore. He Was Missing His Wife.

I'm Supposed To Be A Christian, But Most Days I Don't Feel Like I Can Even Presume To Say That About Myself Any Longer. I Have A Lot Of Mad Left Over. When I Can't Sleep, I Think About The Other People Who Didn't Care How Much Pain And Trouble They Caused Me. And I Think About How Good I'd Feel If They Died.

Very Few Of My Characters Are Totally Heroic Or Totally Villainous.

I Freely Admit I Know Nothing About Television Or Writing For The Screen.