As readers can probably tell from my books, I love the outdoors.

On that night after Phoebe had given her Pandora report, I thought about the Hope in Pandora's box. Maybe when everything seemed sad and miserable, Phoebe and I could both hope that something might start to go right.

It wasn't that I was stupid ... It was just that there didn't seem to be a lot to say that someone wasn't already saying.

A person isn't a bird. You can't cage a person.

You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.

So much depends upon a blue car splattered with mud speeding down the road.

I don't want to because boys don't write poetry. Girls do.