I allowed myself to suffer how jarringly destructive the present feels and how fragile the past.

Starting is hard so I really need to give myself permission to do a bad job. I always give myself leave to write total nonsense for as long as I need to release the pressure, because it's really hard to start if you feel like that first sentence you write has to actually mean something.

Marnie hated to see her spend so much of herself on someone who didn't care.

A tree is such a rich metaphor in a million beautiful ways. You can consider a tree growing and consider its connectedness to all things above and under the ground.

Sometimes it is a relief to be invisible

Bridget's anger evaporated and the sadness came back. The anger was easier. She owned and contolled it, whereas the sadness owned her.

As a writer, you live in such isolation. It's hard to imagine your book has a life beyond you.