The main damage was my wrist, not my back (though three of the vertebrae were broken--they healed fine). The wrist was not diagnosed properly for six weeks so I kept using it when it should've been in a cast. Turned out it'd been a bit crushed--lost about 3 millimetres in density (which is a lot) they estimated at least five bones were broken, but couldn't be sure. Anyway, took two operations before I could use it properly again. Two years in all before it was sort of back to normal. But this was in Australia with nationalised health care. I wasn't insured so there was no fighting with insurance companies. Not very helpful to you, I know. The American system seems, um, less than optimal.

That's exactly how I feel about non-fiction and fiction. The idea of writing a memoir is just too much. (Yet another reason I admire All the Fishes so much!) Writing about yourself has to be the hardest kind of writing of all. If you do it well, I mean. Making yourself go to places you don't want to go . . . Ouch. Then the other kind of non-fiction--all heavily researched and such--is a nightmare cause you have to get everything right, cross every t etc. The kind of fiction I write is much easier on the old brain pane. (I'm not saying it's easy, mind, just easier!)

I look forward to whatever you publish next.

Justine