I didn't start composing until I was 27. By the time I finished my PhD I had three children, including twins, and a career that had taken wonderful, dreadful, and unexpected turns. I was richer for them.

Starting music later than most meant I had to find my own way through, because many of the traditional pathways were not available to me. This developed in me an unusual way of creating pathways for myself and others — following inklings, and linking them to what I began to see in my peripheral vision.

I had a wonderful tenured university position on the composing staff and left it, not because anything was wrong, but because I could see I could make a bigger impact outside it than inside. That was a big, scary step, and I made sure I grieved it properly before I could move freely away from it.

I've overridden myself and my own intuition more times than I'd like to admit, and learned, usually the tricky way, what that costs (and also how it has been of benefit). I've negotiated commissions, managed relationships with orchestras and funding bodies, raised three boys, held a portfolio career across composing, teaching, and mentoring, and built something that is distinctly mine, despite my quiet nature.