/* Style Definitions */ table.MsoNormalTable {mso-style-name:"Table Normal"; mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0; mso-tstyle-colband-size:0; mso-style-noshow:yes; mso-style-priority:99; mso-style-qformat:yes; mso-style-parent:""; mso-padding-alt:0cm 5.4pt 0cm 5.4pt; mso-para-margin-top:0cm; mso-para-margin-right:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:3.0pt; mso-para-margin-left:0cm; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:11.0pt; font-family:"Calibri","sans-serif"; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-font-family:"Times New Roman"; mso-fareast-theme-font:minor-fareast; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin;} I was born in the Chinese Year of the Horse.  Early in life I found that being born in the Year of the Horse didn’t mean horses liked me.  Perhaps because I wasn’t Chinese.  Perhaps I should have been born in the Australian Year of the Kangaroo.  My paternal grandmother called me ‘skippy’, so maybe there was a cosmic mistake.       Every other girl fell in love with horses at about 10.  Not wanting to be left out, I joined the craze.  Having proved to be an excellent tree-climber and accomplice on my older brother’s escapades (usually on the back of some hotted-up motorbike or ‘bush-basher’) I thought horse riding would be a snack.  In my fertile imagination I could picture myself flying gracefully over fences like Elizabeth Taylor in the film National Velvet.  I flew over fences; unfortunately minus the horse!      I persevered valiantly but it was a love affair that ended, as many do, with regret, recrimination and wounded pride.  Finally a horse that I had tried to gently goad into actually moving  trod on me after throwing me to the ground.  I was winded.  Some said it was the first time since learning to talk that I was speechless.      With my horse riding dreams in tatters I settled on becoming a writer and made plans to circulate my own newspaper in the local neighbourhood.  However, I was short one printing press.  Undeterred by this small detail I commandeered my nearby cousins to rewrite my ‘articles’ by hand so that there would be lots of copies to distribute.  They were very poor employees and after I explained the job description to them, ran home shouting, “Get lost!” This was a phrase I would hear again through life.      I then decided to be a nurse.  Bandaids were in plentiful supply at our house so I ran around the schoolyard applying bandaids to hapless students who fell off the monkey bars.  That career choice seemed to ‘take’ a little better.      Now, after nursing for 20 or so years, I have decided to write again.  I have written a non—fiction manuscript, ‘Don’t Be Stupid, Mum!’  I have also written and illustrated four children’s stories and many short stories.  I’m working on a romantic comedy and a novella addressing grief, teenagers and relationships and am looking for someone more co-operative than my reluctant cousins to publish more of my stories. I have one book published and several on the way—all at the same time, of course!!