Reread, Rewrite, Reread, Rewrite. If It Still

I Hope That Readers Will Tear Through My Books Because They Can't Stop Themselves - And Then, Maybe, Read Them Again And Find New Things There.

Writing Poetry Makes You Intensely Conscious Of How Words Sound, Both Aloud And Inside The Head Of The Reader. You Learn The Weight Of Words And How They Sound To The Ear.

Mourning Ruby Is Not A Flat Landscape: It Is More Like A Box With Pictures Painted On Every Face. And Each Face Is Also A Door Which Opens, I Hope, To Take The Reader Deep Into The Book.

The Human Longing For Story Is So Powerful, So Primitive, That It Seems Like Something Not Learned, But Locked Into Our Genes.

I Can Remember Being In My Pram: Children Stayed In Their Prams Much Longer Then Than They Do Now. A Big Bouncy Pram With Black Covers And A Hood With Metal Clips That Could Trap Your Fingers. I Was Looking Up At My Sister Who Was Sitting On The Pram Seat, With Her Back To Me.