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

I was anticipating that some readers might misread [the book] ROOM itself as a hymn to homeschooling.

I've always been religiously inclined, but it doesn't come up in most of my books.

Writing stories is my way of scratching that itch: my escape from the claustrophobia of individuality. It lets me, at least for a while, live more than one life, walk more than one path. Reading, of course, can do the same.

Goodbye, Room." I wave up at Skylight. "Say goodbye," I tell Ma. "Goodbye, Room." Ma says it but on mute. I look back one more time. It's like a crater, a hole where something happened. Then we go out the door.

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

Once I spent a whole day there, a blade of grass in each hand to anchor me to the warm earth. I watched the sun rise, pass over my head and set. Ladybirds mated on my knuckle; a shrew nibbled a hole in my stocking while I tried not to laugh. Such a day was worth any punishment.