I don't really distinguish between sympathy and honesty when I'm writing. The two go together - I'm interested in inhabiting my characters, seeing the world through their eyes.

I write about kids growing up, I write a lot about schools and parents, and all of my experiences with those things have been suburban experiences.

They both seemed to understand that describing it was beyond their powers, the gratitude that spreads through your body when a burden gets lifted, and the sense of homecoming that follows, when you suddenly remember what it feels like to be yourself.

Sooner or later we all lose our loved ones. We all have to suffer, every last one of us.

From a distance, it makes perfect sense that the people and the things you think will save you are the very ones that have the power to disappoint you most bitterly, but up close it can hit you as a bewildering surprise.

It just took some people a little longer than others to realize how few words they needed to get by, how much of life they could negotiate in silence.

I find that even small changes sometimes jog you out of a mental rut.