I was just delighted to be a legitimate, for-real published author.

I was just delighted to be a legitimate, for-real published author.

Don't confine truth to fact. Imaginative truth is as powerful, and often enough, more so than fact.

Light changes, our eyes blink and see the world from the slightest difference of perspective and our place in it has changed.

I was ravenous for my child and took to gorging myself in the boneyard, hoping that she might possibly meet me halfway, or just beyond, one night, if only for an instant—step back into her own bare feet, onto the wet grass or fallen leaves or snowy ground of the living Enon, so that we could share just one last human word.

He smelled cold water and cold intrepid green. Those early flowers smelled like cold water. Their fragrance was not the still perfume of high summer; it was the smell of cold, raw green.

Contrary to all those times you've heard a writer confess at a reading that he writes fiction because he is a pathological liar, fiction writing is all about telling the truth.