Gail had a baby named Ned who was four months old, and a new look of baffled hurt, a left-behind sadness, like she saw that the great world kept spinning onward and away while she'd overnight become glued to her spot.

The heart's in it then, spinning dreams, and torment is on the way. The heart makes dreams seem like ideas.

Gail had a baby named Ned who was four months old, and a new look of baffled hurt, a left-behind sadness, like she saw that the great world kept spinning onward and away while she'd overnight become glued to her spot.

For a long time, I thought you could remain isolated and survive, and I didn't want to change that. But over the last three or four books, I've become more comfortable with the idea that I'm not really throwing anything away by being a bit more open about my books and life.

When I started to be a writer, I was not going to run the risk of boring you.

It's not always to the benefit of the story to have it so preordained.

I had been born shoved to the margins of the world, sure, but I had volunteered for the pits.