I think I want to be published, and live in a quaint little cottage covered in fairy lights and books, (and perhaps a cat, and a dog), and be with a man who has a beautiful back bone and pianist hands. And when I'm not writing novels I will be writing articles about why cloning should not be considered nefarious, and leaving bite marks in my lovers jaw, and do you think Heathcliff was a man or a devil. All of my thoughts belong in a Harlequin romance, so I'm bound to be disappointed.