And then he left, and came back, and our lives fell apart, like a well-loved book that you’d read and read again, until one night you picked it up to read yourself to sleep and the binding collapsed, sending dozens of pages spiraling toward the floor.

People say I'm not good at writing about men. My dad left when I was 16. Give me a break. I'm doing the best I can.

I get really starstruck and tongue tied when I'm around other writers and the conversation tends not to go well.

People will want you to behave a certain way, to make a certain choice because it reinforces the way they see the world...But you have to do what's right for you.

I also believe that if you're really a writer, you'll write, and that nobody could stop you.

I can carry a tune with a three-note range. Once I'm out of that range, I'm in trouble.

It's like if a young woman writes it, then it's chick lit. We don't care if she's slaying vampires or working as a nanny or living in Philadelphia. It's chick lit, so who cares? You know what we call what men write? Books.