As readers can probably tell from my books, I love the outdoors.
The sea, the sea, the sea. It rolled and rolled and called to me. Come in, it said, come in.
When I read good stories, I want to write good stories too.
So much depends upon a blue car splattered with mud speeding down the road.
...but it doesn't feel crazy to us. It feels like what we do.
You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.