Needless to say, there was no one around remotely fitting the description of a normal person: I was at a writing conference.

I'm one of those religious people who are afraid of everything. I'm instantly worried about everything that could go wrong.

Nothing heals us like letting people know our scariest parts: When people listen to you cry and lament, and look at you with love, it's like they are holding the baby of you.

Getting into a new relationship is like pouring Miracle-Gro on your character defects.

My idea of everything going smoothly on an airplane is (a) that I not die in a slow-motion fiery crash or get stabbed to death by terrorists and (b) that none of the other passengers try to talk to me. All conversation should end at the moment the wheels leave the ground.

I don't think you have time to waste not writing because you are afraid you won't be good at it.

So how on earth can I bring a child into the world, knowing that such sorrow lies ahead, that it is such a large part of what it means to be human? I'm not sure. That's my answer: I'm not sure.