When it comes to self-promotion, I pretty much make Emily Dickinson look like an Instagram whore.

But these days a writer has to put herself out there. So, to make it less excruciating for both of us, let’s pretend I’ve actually invited you over. Doesn’t matter why. Say we met at a party, or you sat next to me on a flight from Perth to New York and helped me wrestle open my cheese snack.

Maybe we met walking our dogs, or exercising our husbands. Doesn’t matter. The point is, there was a tiny frisson of mutual interest. Maybe because we are both the kind of people who are offended by the implicit redundancy in the phrase “tiny frisson.” Doesn’t matter.

The point is, you’re here now, and so am I (sort of). So let’s get to know each other a little. You’ve come all this way. The least I can do is show you around.