I don't envy men and I certainly wouldn't like to become one now.

I bought a selection of short, romantic fiction novels, studied them, decided that I had found a formula and then wrote a book that I figured was the perfect story. Thank goodness it was rejected.

The young women in my classes are feisty and clever and believe, often with the passion of youthful optimism, that feminism is a battle already won. I worry for them - and for my daughters, too.

If you can't return a favor, pass it on.

Much of my reading time over the last decade and a half has been spent reading aloud to my children. Those children's bedtime rituals of supper, bath, stories, and sleep have been a staple of my life and some of the best, most special times I can remember.

The importance and influence of books on me has been cumulative: the result of hearing and reading lots of stories about interesting people and places.

The richest most meaningful stories are found in small places: made, carried, crafted, told, and retold by apparently unimportant people.