I didn’t mind the quiet stretches. It was like we were trying out the idea of being side by side.

Mom flipped through the magazines like the pages needed to be slapped.

When the light at Vernon turned green, we stepped into the street and George grabbed my hand and the ghosts of our younger selves crossed with us.

When language is treated beautifully and interestingly, it can feel good for the body: It's nourishing; it's rejuvenating.

I peeled the skin off a grape in slippery little triangles, and I understood then that I would be undressing every item of food I could because my clothes would be staying on.

It seemed to happen in springs, the revealing of things.

Not getting bored of my own story and/or character is one of the main struggles I have had with novel writing, and I have put to bed big chunks of work that just didn't sustain my interest.