A controlling man, surely a mythical creature?

All a writer wants is to be read, and people are so flattering and lovely. I mean, there are witches out there as well. But most are so kind.

I'm looking forward to getting back to my house and my Ugg boots and not washing sometimes, and getting back to writing.

Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me. Perhaps I've spent too long in the company of my literary romantic heroes, and consequently my ideals and expectations are far too high.

I think you can only be truly mad at someone you really love.

It's much easier to wear your pain on the outside.

Once you're in charge of your job, your house, your children, getting the food on the table, doing all of this, all of the time, it'd be nice for someone else to be in charge for a bit maybe.