The older I get the more uncomfortable I feel in my skin. I know that's the opposite of how I'm supposed to feel heading into my 6th decade, but what can I say, I have issues. And even though I want to be in the ‘wisdom club’, I think my wisdom gene is broken.

I write from experience, like any lover of memoir. The life I’ve lived (so far) has been chameleonic by nature and looking back I find some of it hard to believe. The thing about transformation, it opens you up to all kinds of encounters and that has made me a gatherer of stories.

With every story, there’s something to learn. Aren’t we all just seekers of wisdom? Aren’t we here to share and inspire? Purpose has never plagued me more. The aphorism is true, youth really is wasted on the young, and Benjamin Button is my spirit guide.

Introvert turned extrovert turned ‘WTF happened to me’, I delve with curiosity and humour into the undertones and try to translate the shit in my head into something entertaining and palatable to read.

Ex coffee addict, current sugar addict, I use Australian English, that’s S not Z.

Lover of words (profanity is sometimes necessary), grandkids, dogs, cake, the ocean, books, audiobooks, and my bed at the end of the day. An old friend once told me ‘Marce, you can sleep when you’re dead.’ I’ll look forward to that.