A long time ago, Anne used to talk about energy - how that was all that love was - ions connecting across synapses of time and air. Don't rationalize, she'd say. None of it will ever make sense. I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, not wanting to cry. Anne was right. None of it made any sense.

I think it's important to remember that writing is a gift and our stories are gifts to ourselves and to the world and sometimes giving isn't always the easiest thing to do but it comes back.

There is something so deeply visceral about libraries for me-rooms and rooms full of people dreaming and remembering.

That's what makes best friends. It's not whether or not you live on the same block or go to the same school, but how you feel about each other in your hearts.

I rewrite my books until they're mostly memorized so that's a lot of rewrites, a lot of time spent with my stories.

Mainly, I try not to think about my readers as I write - I just think of my characters and myself - If they're interesting to me, my hope is that they'll be interesting to others as well.

To watch your home change in front of you is surprising. But at the same time, going someplace like Mississippi, makes me appreciate even this.