To write a story, I think you really have to open yourself up to the world.

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.

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

Age is not so much a feature of your character, as the spot where you stand for a pretty fleeting time on the arc of your life.

She was supposed to be putting her life together right now, and all she could seem to do was throw grenades at it.

She loved her mother and depended on her mother, and yet every single word her mother said annoyed her.

Forget Jack, I'm in love with the cold, dirt floor.