Jane was born in a remote village in the Malvern Hills in England a long, long time ago. So long ago, that Jane sometimes now forgets where she lives and where she has parked her car. She is, however, very friendly with her local police officer.
Whilst still a baby, Jane moved to the seaside resort of Weston-super-Mare, on the borders of Somerset, where she spent years gazing forlornly out of her Silver Cross Pram. Her excessive exposure to salty air and seagull poop left her deeply traumatized and possessing a bizarre sense of humour. She now inflicts her dubious wit on everyone, including passing strangers, scarecrows and stray dogs. She hasn't been invited to dinner since 1982.
When Jane was young and ambitious she aspired to be an actress but, one day, her life changed forever when she met a tall handsome stranger. Unfortunately, the stranger walked off and Jane married someone else in a fit of pique. Luckily, he turned out to fairly normal and Jane did the family thing and gave birth to three annoying sons. Since then Jane has been scrubbing saucepans and toilet bowls and gazing out her kitchen window fantasying about writing novels.
After many years and even more chocolate-chip cookies, Jane finally completed her first book, A Modern Life. Jane's husband was delighted he would no longer have to hear her waffling on about it and threw his hands up with relief. Jane cried with happiness. After they'd celebrated, Jane told her husband even better news; she didn't have writer's block and had an idea for a full-length novel. At which point, Jane threw up her hands with relief and he cried. Somehow they are still married.
There is a lot more to tell about Jane. You can find her at her blog, The Witty Ways of a Wayward Wife. A place where she talks. A lot.