Why do I read? I just can’t help myself. I read to learn and to grow, to laugh and to be motivated. I read to understand things I’ve never been exposed to. I read when I’m crabby, when I’ve just said monumentally dumb things to the people I love. I read for strength to help… Read more »
Because of a flood decades ago, I have nothing that my grandmother wrote, except, I suppose, all that she wrote on my heart. She was a professional storyteller and sometimes I can see her sitting on a stool in the kitchen, a big yellow bowl in her lap, whipping egg whites with a wooden spoon… Read more »
My computer died. I sat there and looked at it. It was cold, the screen was dark. I pushed buttons, I talked to it, I prayed. I called my computer genius husband who had to work late at the office, but he said, “Things can be done.” This is how geniuses talk. “What things?” I… Read more »
My husband Evan saw it first. We’d pulled into Merritt Bookstore’s parking lot for my book signing. There it was on a car door. I laughed. Now that was a fan. Hope Was Here, my sixth novel for young people, has inspired some wonderful signage, but there was something about this dusty declaration that put things… Read more »
It was Christmas Eve and I was miserable. Eleven days before I’d been in a car accident that would lead to neurosurgery, but that surgery would be months in coming. I couldn’t write, I had stinging pain in my neck and back, and I was scared. But my daughter was singing in the angel choir… Read more »
I Googled “hope” the other day. There are millions of “hopes” to click on.