Many of my books come from what if questions that I can't answer, things that I'm worried about as either a woman, a wife, a mom, an American.

I sometimes wonder if it is just me, or if there are other women who figure out where they are supposed to be by going nowhere.

Only the liar knows he's lying

They ask, how could this happen here? Well. How could it not happen here?

The woman who opens the door has a blue stain on her shirt and dark hair wound into a messy knot and the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen. They're pale, like a lioness's, nearly golden, but they also look like they've done their fair share of crying, and we all know that a sky with clouds in it is much more interesting than one that doesn't have any.

This was something she would keep hidden within herself, maybe in place of the knot of pain and anger she had been carrying under her breastbone...a security blanket, an ace up her sleeve. She might never use it, but she would always feel its presence like a swelling secret stone, and that way when she let go of the rage, she would not feel nearly as empty.

The scariest thing in the world is thinking someone you love is going to die.