The Night Is A Strawberry.

He Tried To Let Her Know It Would Be All Right. Eventually. Life Wouldn't Always Be This Painful. The World Wouldn't Always Be This Brutal. Give It Time, Little One. Give It Another Chance. Come Back.

A Good Journalist, As You Know, Is A Great Listener. And So's A Good Writer. And I Got To Listen To People For Almost 20 Years. That Serves Me Well, I Hope, When I Try To Understand How A Character Might Be Feeling, Or How They Might React.

Winning Doesn't Mean My Book Is Better Than Anyone Else's. It Means I'm Very Fortunate. And I Should Be Very, Very Aware Of That. And Grateful.

A Good Novel Is A Good Novel, Pointe Finale. And I Think What I'm Writing Is Exactly That.

After Spending Most Of Her Life Scanning The Horizon For Slights And Threats, Genuine And Imagined, She Knew The Real Threat To Her Happiness Came Not From The Dot In The Distance, But From Looking For It. Expecting It. Waiting For It. And In Some Cases, Creating It. Her Father Had Jokingly Accused Her Of Living In The Wreckage Of Her Future. Until One Day She'd Looked Deep Into His Eyes And Saw He Wasn't Joking. He Was Warning Her.