Fascinating. I relate to so much of this.

Nine books for Harlequin and always the suspicion, or questions that the material was somehow autobiographical. None of them were, but bits of my life found their way in.

I had a friend called Deanna who appeared in various forms--a cat, a parrot, an annoying neighbour--in every book. They were sold at Walmart and as soon as a new one came out, she'd pick it up and flip through the pages until she found Deanna. She thought it was hilarious. Fortunately.