Thanksgiving was nothing more than a pilgrim-created obstacle in the way of Christmas; a dead bird in the street that forced a brief detour.

I suppose home is, for me, more of a state of mind. It's really more of about being where I want to be with people I care about.

Life would be fabric-softener, tuna-salad-on-white, PTA-meeting normal.

If you find you require willpower, you aren't ready to lose weight.

I never get sick of writing my own stories because there's a certain comfort in knowing you will never run out of material. It's relaxing, actually, to write.

The more obsessed one is with getting thin, the more certain it becomes that one will never get there.

I've just finished my next collection, Possible Side Effects, and I'm now working on a collection of holiday stories as well as a memoir about my relationship with my father.