I've always been intrigued by the power of secrets. When is it justifiable to keep them from the ones we love? And does keeping them irrevocably change who we are?

I learned that getting mad was easier than being sad.

I always find something in common with my protagonist, particularly when I write in the first person.

She wonders what fool ever said that it's better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all - she has never disagreed with something so much.

I think it's important to try to be present with whatever it is you're doing. And if you can't be present, take a break.

Maybe that's what it all comes down to. Love, not as a surge of passion, but as a choice to commit to something, someone, no matter what obstacles or temptations stand in the way. And maybe making that choice, again and again, day in and day out, year after year, says more about love than never having a choice to make at all.

Surely he knows we are all watching. That I am watching. It is always that way when you are in a group and someone decides to go for a swim or walk to the water. The ocean is a giant stage. It is natural that the others watch, if only for a moment.