In this moment that blooms and fades as it passes, he is enough, and all is well in the world.

Sometimes you have to let time carry you past your troubles.

Fiction is always a utopian task, in that there's an ideal you hold in your head as you write which inevitably fails in the moment of creation, in the insufficiency of words to convey meaning, or in the way the work is completed in the reader's head.

As a person, I do ascribe to a lot of magical thinking myself.

Depressing thought: my friends were the girls I ate lunch with, all buddies from kindergarten who knew one another so well we weren't sure if we even liked one another anymore.

The gender inequality in book reviewing isn't getting better. Male authors get the majority of review coverage, and male reviewers do most of the reviewing. It's kind of devastating.

We need the skeletons of other stories to understand our own, sometimes.