Violence up close has a smell. Like copper blood and charcoal burning.

I try really hard to ask people to take a look at their bookshelves. Are there female writers on it? Gay writers? Writers of color? There should be.

do you fix a wheel that isn't broken, or do you wait until the cart collapses?

There are some things, I think, you're btter off not remembering.

For me, every book is a journey - questioning a really difficult topic that most people don't want to talk about, much less write about. And that's what I need; that works for me as a writer.

Love was that way. You could not render it in black or white. It always came down to the strange, blended shades of grey.

Missed opportunities were never superficial wounds; they cut straight to the bone.