As Far As I Was Concerned, We'd

I'm Incredibly Flattered When People Tell Me That My Books Helped Them Through High School. Because Of My Own Experience, The Thought That Something I Wrote Might Help Someone Who Felt The Way I Did When I Was A Teen...that's Huge. It Awes Me.

I'd Been Through So Much, Falling Short Again And Again, And Only Recently Had Found A Place Where Who I Was, Right Now, Was Enough.

She Knew I Could Tell With One Glance, One Look, One Simple Instant. It Was Her Eyes. Despite The Thick Makeup, They Were Still Dark-rimmed., Haunted, And Sad. Most Of All Though, They Were Familiar. The Fact That We Were In Front Of Hundreds Of Strangers Changed Nothing At All. I'd Spent A Summer With Those Same Eyes-scared, Lost, Confused-staring Back At Me. I Would Have Known Them Anywhere.

Writing A Novel Is Like Childbirth: Once You Realize How Awful It Really Is, You Never Want To Do It Again.

Conciseness Is Underrated