I like to be surprised. The best writing is when it defies me, when it starts going a different way than I had planned.

All the dead bolts, pulled shades and hidden knives in the world couldn't protect you from the truth.

I don't know. Maybe we're all chaos theorists. Lovers of pattern and predictability, we're scared shitless of explosive change. But we're fascinated by it, too. Drawn to it. Travelers tap their brakes to ogle the mutilation and mangled metal on the side of the interstate, and the traffic backs up for miles. Hijacked planes crash into skyscrapers, breached levees drown a city, and CNN and the networks rush to the scene so that we can all sit in front of our TVs and feast on the footage. Stare, stunned, at the pandemonium--the devils let loose from their cages.

Getting a job scared her but she was determined not to shy away from risk. That's what life's all about. Climbing out onto the airplane wing and jumping off.

Love comes in far more shapes and sizes than what the family-values crowd condones, of course.

Human behavior in the midst of hardship caught my attention very early on, and my first stories were all pictures, no words.

Love grows from the rich foam of forgiveness, mongrels make good dogs, and the evidence of God exists in the roundness of things.