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.

The lesson you have to learn as novelist is how to be collaborative, and how to say, "I don't get to dictate this."

Maybe that's what we look for in the people we love, the spark of unhappiness we think we know how to extinguish.

It felt good, the whole family together on a sunny morning in a wholesome environment. If it hadn't been for the warshiping God part, he would have happily attended church on a regular basis.

Because, really, what was worse than lying wide-awake in the dark, watching your life drip away, one irreplaceable minute after another?

I know very few writers who outline fully before they start. It just doesn't seem possible to do, because so many things don't come out until you're absolutely knee-deep in the world.

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.