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

When people write to me with stories, they are never ones that work for me. There's something mysterious about which ones catch you.

I found motherhood a crash course in existentialism (what is my purpose in life, am I mistress or slave of my destiny, when the hell do I get some sleep?) and [the book] ROOM was the result.

The paradox of publicity is that even as we do it, we know it's killing off the chance of another reader happening across our book in the ideal state of innocence.

Any parent knows how to be the ideal parent.

There are some tales not for telling, whether because they are too long, too precious, too laughable, too painful, too easy to need telling or too hard to explain. After all, after years and travels my secrets are all I have left to chew on in the night.

Sometimes you must shed your skin to save it.