All characters come from people I know, but after the initial inspiration, I tend to modify the characters so they fit with the story.

Who did she know in Raleigh who took the time off to fix a house? Or read Whitman or Eliot, finding images in the mind, thoughts of the spirit? Or hunted dawn from the bow of a canoe? These weren't the things that drove society, but she felt they shouldn't be treated as unimportant. They made living worthwhile.

Knowing there's one thing I still haven't told you: I now believe, by the way, that miracles can happen.

It might seem as the hardest thing to do, but you have to forget the guy who forgot about you.

The ocean has been singing to me, and the song is that of our life together.

It's easy to write something average or even something good. But writing well is quite challenging.

What were the odds that she'd turn away at the same instant the ball came flying her way? And that she'd be holding a soda in a crowd at a volleyball game she didn't even want to watch, in a place she didn't want to be? In a million years, the same thing should probably never happen again. With odds like that, she should have bought a lottery ticket.