As a reporter you tend to seek coherence from your subject or your source - it all needs to add up and make sense. In truth, in reality, there's often a great deal of murkiness and muddiness, confusion and contradiction.

I had been a reporter for 15 years when I set out to write my first novel. I knew how to research an article or profile a subject - skills that I assumed would be useless when it came to fiction. It was from my imagination that the characters in my story would emerge.

As a novelist, you deepen your characters as you go, adding layers. As a reporter, you try to peel layers away: observing subjects enough to get beneath the surface, re-questioning a source to find the facts. But these processes aren't so different.

When you lose a parent at ten years old, the world seems like a much scarier place. It makes complete sense to me that I took survival courses when I was a teenager and started going to war zones as a reporter. I didn't ever want to be taken advantage of, and I wanted to be able to take care of those around me.

The world reacts very strangely to people they see on TV, and I can begin to understand how anchor monsters are made. If you're not careful, you can become used to being treated as though you're special and begin to expect it. For a reporter, that's the kiss of death.

Unfortunately, the reporters ask the same questions over and over again. When reporters keep asking the same questions, they've got to recognize I may hear these questions 20 to 30 times in a matter of days. It gets to the point where I think, 'Read the other interviews!'

Basically, sometimes a reporter will ask a question, and I feel the answers only matter when the questions are relevant.

They put me on the shift where they thought I could do the least harm, midnight to eight in the morning. Although the hours were lousy, they were perfect for an apprentice reporter.