I'd pretty much given up hope of being published, so I just wrote the book I wanted to read.

Hope, how she had grown to hate the word. It was an insideious seed planted inside a person's soul, surviving covertly on little tending, then flowering so spectacularly that none could help but cherish it.

Some say I'm an overnight success. Well, that was a very long night that lasted about 10 years. But while I do, of course, now feel the pressure having had books that have been very successful, I just know I have to concentrate on writing for myself. I can't worry about genres or markets or what might be commercial or not. That never works.

There's a market for mysteries for adults. That feeling of opening a book and delving inside and not coming out until you've closed the book.

A true friend is a light in the dark. Viven

If you don't stop apologizing, you're going to convince me you've done something wrong.

His words had tossed the book that was her life into the air and the pages had been blown into disarray, could never be put back together to tell the same story.