There was one thing my murderer didn't understand; he didn't understand how much a father could love his child.

I forgive you," I said. I said what I had to. I would die by pieces to save myself from real death.

I missed her then but it was an odd sort of missing because by then, I knew the meaning of forever.

Part of the creative process for me is an invitation for readers to follow their imagination.

I wake up very early in the morning. I like to start in the dark, and I never work at night, because my brain is evaporated by 4 p.m.

These things, she felt, were not to be passed around like disingenuous party favors. She kept an honor code with her journals and her poems. 'Inside, inside,' she would whisper quietly to herself when she felt the urge to tell.

What I think was hardest for me to realize was that he had tried each time to stop himself. He had killed animals, taking lesser lives to keep from killing a child