Secrets are like pregnancies hereabouts. You can hide them for a while but then they will start screaming.

These are the stories that we tell ourselves and only ourselves, and they are better left unshared.

There is no remedy for death--or birth--except to hug the spaces in between. Live loud. Live wide. Live tall.

My father had osteomyelitis-his left arm was withered between his elbow and his shoulder ... . But the amputation of a Stone Age man called Leaf, a stoneworker, does not relate to my father at all.

There's solace in the thought that I will never finish missing her.

Retiring from writing is not to retire from life, but retiring from writing is to avoid the inevitable bitterness which a writing career is bound to deliver as its end product, in almost every case.

Try pitching a story of happiness to your editors and their toes are going to curl up.