The sound of the pages turning was the sound of magic. The dry liquid feel of paper under fingertips was what magic felt like.

Maybe I’m a human, but I’m a me-and-Ma as well.

When I tell her what I’m thinking and she tells me what she’s thinking, our each ideas jumping into the other’s head, like coulouring blue crayon on top of yellow that makes green.

Some writers can produce marvelous plots without planning it out, but I can't. In particular I need to know the structure of a novel: what's going to happen in each chapter and each scene.

You cannot predict literary success; the only way you can possibly aim for it is to do your thing and do it well.

Scared is what you're feeling. Brave is what you're doing.

You're meant to have an unhappy childhood to be a writer, but there's a lot to be said for a very happy one that just let's you get on with it.