I was an English major in college, took a ton of creative writing courses, and was a newspaper reporter for 10 years.

So here I am. Twenty-eight years old, with thirty looming on the horizon. Drunk. Fat. Alone. Unloved. And, worst of all, a cliche, Ally McBeal and Bridget Jones put together, which was probably about how much I weighed.

I think I'm much more comfortable talking about other books than my own!

She thought of what it would be like to grow up without the one certainty that every baby deseved - when I'm hurt or cold or scared, someone will come and care for me - and how that absence could warp you so that you'd lash out at the people you loved, driving them away when all you wanted to do was pull them closer.

When an older writer tries to tell a younger writer through a review what kind of career she should be pursuing, it tends to speak to the reviewer's anxieties rather than the book itself.

I love it when people ask who my influences are... or what my favorite part of my last book was... or the last great book I read.

He loved me. He loved me, but he doesn't love me anymore, and it's not the end of the world.