Like every Southern writer, I thought that I needed to write the next Gone With the Wind.

You can only make decisions with the information you have at the time

It really sucks getting older. Sometimes I'll be walking along and I'll just glance over my shoulder to make sure nothing has fallen off.

Ultimately, I'm in control of what's going on in the books, so I can back off, if it's scaring me too much.

I'm afraid of the general things that everyone is afraid of: a bump in the night that could be a cat or Death dragging his sickle across the room; losing my health; becoming homeless, never meeting George Clooney.

I never felt isolated; I just liked being alone. I think that some people are good at being alone, and some people arent, and as a child, I really liked it.

I can’t—” Lena repeated. “I can’t do it. I can’t live without him.” Sara gently pulled her hand away from Jared’s. She smoothed down the sheet, tucked it in close around his side. She looked at Lena—really looked at her straight in the eye. “Good,” Sara told her. “Now you know how it feels.