I consider it a great gift from heaven that I am able to pursue professionally something that I love: books.
Ever since I was a child, I knew that all I needed to be completely content was a small home press… and here I have it, in the form of my computer. I spend delectable, absorbing hours designing, playing, working, writing and drawing by means of this clever little thing. 
It can do so much! But not everything, unfortunately: thinking up, writing and illustrating a novel I have to do myself. With nobody’s help.

First I have to construct the plot, then arrange it carefully into scenes, up to the dénouement, picture the characters, their appearance, temperament, habits and reactions. (I often draw them first, before writing about them.)
I make plenty of notes and stuff them into a folder or stick them up around the table, on bookcases and shelves. And then I simply write, which is a long, laborious and tiring process. It also looks quite unextraordinary: a rumpled woman sits in random attire, staring into space through a window, after which she taps on the keyboard and then stares, in turn, at the monitor. She sits, sits and sits, her back, shoulders and legs begin to hurt. What she writes, she writes down, or rejects. She gets up, walks around a bit, goes out into the garden, looks at the roses, gets pricked by her conscience and goes back to work. She sits, sits and sits, nibbles on some peanuts or almonds, what she writes, she writes down, or rejects, and so on, over and over. This monotonous work goes on for months on end, but it brings a great deal of satisfaction and joy.

Just imagine… I’ve been working like that for thirty-three years now!
Not every day, of course. Plenty of more important, more pressing matters encroach on my time and attention. And the days are so short!

But in spite of everything, I have managed to write and draw this and that in my life—and I now want to present it to you.