We Can't Live Other People's Lives For

Hands Down, The Hardest Part For Me Is Coming Up With An Idea. I Spend About 14 Months Writing A Book, And That's A Lot Of Hours Spent Thinking About A Single Project. I Simply Have To Love The Idea. I'll Go Through Dozens Of Workable Ideas Until I Find The One That Lights My Fire.

And Before You Barrel Through Some Idiotic Cosmo Girl List Of How-well-do-you-know-your-man Questions, Let Me Say That I Don't Know Squat About Him Except That He Kisses Like A God And Screws Like A Devil.

She Is Like A Child Picking At A Scab, Unable To Stop Herself Even Though She Knows It Will Hurt.

No Mother. Two Small Words, And Yet Within Them Lay A Bottomless Well Of Pain And Loss, A Ceaseless Mourning For Touches That Were Never Received And Words Of Wisdom That Were Never Spoken. No Single Word Was Big Enough To Adequately Describe The Loss Of Your Mother.

When You're A Mom, You Learn About Fear. You're Always Afraid. Always. About Everything From Cupboard Doors To Kidnappers To Weather.