Then I went home to continue my life, which had changed a little, as lives do every day, inching by microspecks forward toward whatever surprises are coming next.

We gained control of many things. But we had to let go of others.

His mind reeled. Now, empowered to ask questions of utmost rudeness-and promised answers-he could, conceivably (though it was almost unimaginable), ask someone, some adult, his father perhaps: "Do you lie?" But he would have no way of knowing if the answer he received was true.

When I create characters, I create a world to inhabit and they begin to feel very real for me. I don't belong in a psych ward, I don't think, but they become very real, like my own family, and then I have to say goodbye, close the door, and work on other things.

I'm not terribly conversant with children's literature in general. I tend to read books for adults, being an adult.

The whole world had changed. Only the fairy tales remained the same. "And they lived happily ever after.

Take pride in your pain; you are stronger than those who have none