My notion of an elegant table is you don't leave the knife sticking out of the mayonnaise jar.

Grief rolled across the space between us like a wash of salt water.

If I'd been listening closely, I'd have caught the sound of the gods having a great big old tee-hee at my expense.

I made the rules I figured I could be the one to break them. I thought I would write about xenophobia, a hatred of foreigners. After I stated writing the story there was not a foreigner to be had. I did not want to just stick one in there so I could get a title out of it since it seemed like cheating. I never figured out how I could get out of this dilemma so I just called it X and weaved X traits into the story.

The character of Rosie is based on a woman who used to live in the same apartment building I lived in many years ago. She's taken on a life of her own, of course.

It is a truth of human nature that we can ponder life's mysteries for only so long before we lose interest and move on to something else.

Ghosts don't haunt us. That's not how it works. They're present among us because we won't let go of them." "I don't believe in ghosts," I said, faintly. "Some people can't see the color red. That doesn't mean it isn't there," she replied.