There was something striking about her posture; something about the tilt to her head. She was like a beautiful and lonely piece of art, lovely but unreachable.

I can tell you that as a writer and as a reader, I regard character as king. Or queen. No matter how riveting the action or interesting the plot twists, if I don't feel like I'm meeting someone who feels real, I'm not going to be compelled to read further.

Then Maura made something with butter and Calla made something with bacon and Blue steamed broccoli in self-defense.

Face flushed, I shook my head and stared at my white-knuckled grip on the bed. Of all my pet peeves, condescending adults were probably at the top of the list.

My words are unerring tools of destruction, and I’ve come unequipped with the ability to disarm them.

at last no one decided And no one knocked And no one jumped up And no one opened And there stood no one And no one entered And no one said: welcome And no one answered: at last

It occurred to me then that I was the opposite of my father. Because I was very, very good at destroying things.