I attended an extremely small liberal arts school. There were approximately 1,600 of us roaming our New England campus on a good day. My high school was bigger. My freshman year hourly calorie intake was bigger.

Time grabs you by the scruff of your neck and drags you forward. You get over it, of course. Everyone was right about that. One mathematically insignificant day, you stop hoping for happiness and become actually happy.

I have definitely had experiences where I can feel the shift from simply living my life to being slightly outside of my life and taking notes.

I write on weekends, on vacation, and, really - on deadline and on my floor. Both terrible for the back.

Uniqueness is wasted on youth. Like fine wine or a solid flossing habit, you'll be grateful for it when you're older.

The truth is, I wrote a novel when I was 23. It's hideously bad. Truly rotten.

In every woman's wardrobe, there are certain accessories that cannot be separated from their back stories.