Look inside yourself for the answers - you're the only one who knows what's best for you. Everybody else is only guessing.

When one of my characters becomes aware of a magical element, it might be because the world is wider than we assume it to be, but it might also be a reminder to pay attention to what is here already, hidden only because it's been forgotten.

Not everything has to mean something. Some things just are.

The past scampers like an alley cat through the present, leaving the paw prints of memories scattered helter-skelter.

What I want to do is travel deep and deeper into the dreamlands, to find that place that I know is waiting for me here. My home.

But that's what we all are-just stories. We only exist by how people remember us, by the stories we make of our lives. Without the stories, we'd just fade away.

We're all made of stories. When they finally put us underground, the stories are what will go on. Not forever, perhaps, but for a time. It's a kind of immortality, I suppose, bounded by limits, it's true, but then so's everything.