…and I’m thinking how nothing is as simple as you guess-not right or wrong, not Judd Travers, not even me or this dog I got here. But the good part is I saved Shiloh and opened my eyes some. Now that ain’t bad for eleven.

Happiness is wanting what you have.

Anyone of any age, any race, any background, any education - if they write an interesting enough book - can become a published author. What it takes is imagination, the ability to put words on a paper in an interesting, perhaps even unique way, the fortitude to rewrite, rewrite, rewrite, and polish, edit, polish, edit until the story sort of sings. I think everyone has a story inside him, but only a few have the persistence and, of course, the interest, to write it down and see it through.

It's what they say to do when you're depressed, you know. Walk in someone else's shoes for a while, and your own won't feel so tight.

When you’ve found the right one - when you see him, when you’re with him - you’ll feel like you’re coming home.

An idea in the head is like a rock in the shoe; I just can't wait to get it out.

Once I have the idea for a story. I start collecting all kinds of helpful information and storing it in three-ring notebooks. For example, I may see a picture of a man in a magazine and say, 'That's exactly what the father in my book looks like!'...I save everything that will help--maps, articles, hand-jotted notes, bits of dialogue from conversations that I overhear.