I watched the news for fifteen minutes and saw the word “deadly” used in two separate headlines for two different events. Is it true that life-and-death scenarios are all that interest our culture nowadays? The recent stream of crime thrillers issuing from trade publishers would support that theory. But isn’t that setting the bar so low? Simply “getting out alive” has become the happy ending.

I suppose the question I’ve got is this: what happened to the small, intimate stories that enrich life instead of merely keep a hold on it?



I let a friend read a chapter from my current work-in-progress. He told me it had my fingerprints all over it, that he could actually hear me through the text. For someone who has struggled for years to differentiate her own voice from those of her favorite authors, this sentiment was exactly the kind of thing I needed to hear.

Moral of the story: Find someone you trust and let them read your work. It will make all the difference.


I have removed my wristwatch. I dislike it when I type and it clatters against the edge of my laptop keyboard. When I take it off, it usually means I’m about to pump out a good five pages of text. It is always a good sign.


There is always something extremely lonely about the feeling of inspiration. When the puzzle pieces finally fit  together, when it clicks, when the shadowy, tenuous plot holes are suddenly stitched up with a glorious, glowing thread … No one but the author can truly understand how perfect and complete that moment is.