I wouldn't be sitting here tonight if it wasn't for my sister, all I did was to write down my thoughts and fond childhood memories of her. Those words of love came easily, and the moment they appeared on the page I knew I'd found my true voice.

I could speak clearly at last, so I told the whole world about my sister and quite a few people heard me and listened. If they like her, I thought, then they're sure to like Chloe as well. How could anyone not be enchanted when introduced to an exotic, African princess?

And I was right, Chloe was very well received and now she's sat next to me, chatting to my sister about the magnificent surroundings we find ourselves in. London's Guildhall is an edifice of history, with awesome high ceilings and tall arched windows. Chloe loves this sort of thing and my sister, as usual, knows everything about it. You don't need Google when my sister is around.

It's lovely having them both with me, but what makes things perfect is that those two only make up half of my all female entourage, my friends Hazel and Melanie are accompanying me too. How could they not be invited after we shared so many pages of exciting adventures?

These four women are the loves of my life, together they fill my dreams and empower my inspiration. They are no longer mere flesh and blood, they are my characters and now they're immortal as such. Without them my writing would be empty of stories to tell, no friendships nor passions for me to share with the world.

Tonight my characters have stepped off the page and each one of them has been easily recognised, which isn't difficult for anyone here who has read my stories. My sister is obviously my sister, Chloe is the only black girl amongst us, Hazel the only redhead, and Melanie... well no one could ever mistake her and her long shapely legs, she's always the most alluring beauty at any occassion.

"It's not my fault," Melanie says to me.

"What isn't?"

"Being so seductive. You always dress me like this in your stories."

That's true, but it's how I will always remember her. She was the queen of temptation back in our college days, so it is her fault really for being so voluptuous and wearing such short skirts. Besides, she doesn't really mind, she loves being the center of attention... so tonight I'll use my full power as an author and give her a helping hand. I'll make her legs even longer and her skirt even shorter. Now even Venus herself would envy such a display of female perfection.

While I'm at it, I'll decorate Chloe's beautiful, ebony skin with mysterious tribal markings steeped in ancient ritual and tradition. I'll have my sister more soppy and emotional than I've ever yet portrayed her. And Hazel has a reputation for mischief to live up to, so tonight she can smooth talk her way into complimentary hotel rooms for us all.

Or on second thoughts, we'll have the finest, most luxurious suite overlooking the Thames. We'll all spend the night together because together is best. We'll have free champagne and canopes sent up, all courtesy of Hazel with her sharp wits and tongue. Hazel never pays for anything, but nobody ever comes after her.

"This is it," says Chloe, squeezing my hand and breaking my train of thought.

All eyes in the Guildhall turn to the stage and the atmosphere is electric. A famous person emerges, clutching the envelope with the winning author's name inside. Who is that famous person? I don't know, but they could be anyone I want them to be.

The room goes quiet as the famous person delivers a short speech, every word of which is in honor of all the truly great authors past and present. Not mere best selling authors, but those whose works have impressed the wisest of scholors and become timeless masterpieces.

"And the winner is..." the famous person finally announces.

I can't stand the tension, the famous person is teasing us all and taking forever to open the envelope.

"The winner is... no surprise at all, ladies and gentlemen."

Oh, stop teasing and say it.

"The winner is..." and the audience laugh at this little ongoing joke.

"OK. No more fooling."

"The winner is... Steffanie Laine for Little Blonde White Girl."

Melanie screams, Chloe hugs and kisses me, Hazel leaps to her feet and my sister bursts into tears. I can't believe it's all happening, my head is buzzing and my ears are ringing with the cacophony of so much applause.

Everyone is on their feet now and I must get to mine and make for the stage. I have to accept the award, but I want my entourage with me to enjoy their rightful share of my glory. The applause becomes even louder when I stand, there's a sea of smiling faces which parts as I begin my triumphant journey.

It's all such a blur, before I know it I'm on the stage with the four young women who helped put me there. I've a trophy in my hands, an audience before me and a speech to make. I'm lost for words. I've won the greatest prize in literature and I've no idea what to say.

"Tell us what it means to you, Steffanie," the famous person helpfully suggests.

"It means..."

"It means I..."

"Go on. Say something, Steffanie," the famous person prompts.

"er... I think there's been a mistake."

"What do you mean, Steffanie?"

"I don't deserve this. I'm not really a great author. I just write for fun. I was only dreaming."

I hand back the trophy and everything begins fading away, the trophy, the famous person and everyone else, except for my sister and my three girl friends. They're still here, they're real enough and I know they all love me with or without my grand prize.

I don't need to big myself up with unwarranted trophies and accolades because I already have the prizes my writing truly deserves. They may seem like very humble little prizes compared with the Booker, but touching a few strangers hearts with my words has been a wonderful thing when I think about it.

I can touch hearts again, I still have my favorite characters with me and always will do. I don't need to big them up either because they're perfect as they are, they're sexy and fun. They're normal young women living their lives and anyone who wants to can easily relate to them.

Melanie is very pretty, but she's not a Goddess like Venus. Chloe doesn't need tribal markings on her skin to be exotic and exciting. And my sister can stop crying like a baby and return to simply being kind and thoughtful like she really is.

As for Hazel, well we're stood in the bar of an economy hotel and doubtless we'll be paying for our rooms tonight. Although I'm sure my foxy redhead will manage to sweet talk at least one free round of drinks in for us all, before we head off on our girlie adventure in London's West End.

"Are you OK, Steffanie?" Melanie asks me.

"... er yeah. I'm fine thanks."

"She's been daydreaming again," says Hazel.

"Thinking about a story?" Chloe guesses.

"Sort of."

"I love reading her stories," says Hazel. "You're the best author ever, Steff."

"Don't tell her that," says my sister. "She might start believing it."

"Don't listen to her, Steff," says Hazel. "Dream on girl. Dream on."

Steffanie xxx