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For some reason, I wrote about the bed we slept in when I was a kid. It was a half-acre of misery, that bed, sagging in the middle, red hair sticking out of the mattress, the spring gone and the fleas leaping all over the place.

It's not a bargain if it has bedbugs.

I can't leave anywhere without making my bed; it's ingrained.

You can always wake up on the wrong side of the bed and, boo-hiss, everyone suffers. We can all be temperamental.

I want to tell stories powerful people don't want you to tell. It's not worth getting out of bed otherwise.

Richard doesn't really like me to kill bugs, but sometimes I can't help it.

Sometimes dirty can come off really cute or come off 'I don't even want you to touch me.'

My own father used to boast to me of biting off a man's ear in a street fight.

I've had no fewer than three young women on separate occasions come up to me at book signings and unzip their pants, turn around, and drop them to show me that they had 'Bonnie lassie' tattooed across their rumpuses!

I've never had a message for anyone in my entire life. Except maybe to give out my room number.