She lives in Hampshire, England with her husband, author Peter Dickinson, two hellhounds nicknamed Chaos and Darkness, an 1897 Steinway upright named Rhodanthe, and increasing numbers of rose bushes wedged into three tiny gardens. The view from her office window is her change-ringing bell tower and in the next village over is a paragon among horses whom Robin is so fortunate as to have permission to ride.
Author's Comment: I couldn't wait to learn how to read (I was totally disgusted with kindergarten and learning my letters: I wanted words and I wanted them now) and once I began there was no stopping me. But reading was also pretty well the one thing I was much good at. I was a complete loss at maths and nearly so at all the sciences with a slightly honourable mention for biology in high school (I then took beginning biology in college which was a disaster when I refused to pith my frog; why did a frog have to die so that I could write up a lab report?) and history had all these facts you had to learn to pass the exams. (As I often tell school groups, no doubt to the dismay of listening teachers, there are, in my hierarchy, two kinds of facts. There are boring facts, which I merely wish to get away from as quickly as possible, and interesting facts, which I then wish to make up stories around and subvert as the plot demands. 'Learning' facts is not on the list.) And phys ed, shuuudder. No, I certainly wasn't athletic. . .