I learned to write by writing.

She's not dead. You didn't kill her, nor did the hunger birds, although they did their best to get to you through her. She's been given her ocean. One day, in its own time, the ocean will give her back.I thought of corpses and of skeletons with pearls for eyes. I thought of mermaids with tails that flicked when they moved, like my goldfishes' tails had flicked before my goldfish had stopped moving, to lie, belly up, like Lettie, on the top of the water. I said, 'Will she be the same?

I do not threaten, I merely advise caution.

I don't know. I had to be something, didn't I?

Wherever you go, you take yourself with you.

Sometimes we can choose the paths we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all.

There are stories you build and there are stories you construct; then there are the stories that you hack out of rock removing all the things that are not the story.