It's like a Venn diagram of tragedy.

It's not words, so much, just my mind going blank and thoughts reaching up up up, me wishing I could climb through the ceiling and over the stars until I can find God, really see God, and know once and for all that everything I've believed my whole life is true, and real. Or, not even everything. Not even half. Just the part about someone or something bigger than us who doesn't lose track. I want to believe the stories, that there really is someone who would search the whole mountainside just to find that one lost thing that he loves, and bring it home.

I'm not really a plot writer - I'm more interested in the characters and sort of small events that propel the story forward.

Sometimes you want to hear your own mother's voice.

A know a place called New Beginnings, but I don't think it works quite like that. You can't just erase everything that came before.

Try a little tenderness.

I never had a connection like that to anyone, where every day you think about what you’ll tell them and you wonder what they’re doing, and you know they’re wondering what you’re doing.