I once read about a guy who lost his arms in a fire. The nurse took pity on him and gave him a hand job. I don't even get that.

And I tend to listen to NPR when I'm not writing.

And of course, the answer came to me in the same way Jesus comes to those who drink in trailers: as an epiphany.

I tend to really enjoy being swept up in fiction. I love a good story and I admire fiction authors.

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

You must never allow something that happened to you to become a morbidly treasured heirloom that you carry, show people, put back in its black velvet pouch and then tuck back into your jacket where you can keep it close to your heart.

I've overcome a lot - sexual abuse, death of a loved one, bad parents and experienced life. My nature is such I not only survived all this but I have thrived. I've always been psychologically ambitious in that I've never been willing to settle emotionally for anything less then what's needed. I've wanted more then that from life.