This business about “If you write, you’re a writer” is off-putting. No one ever says, “If you nurse someone back from a cold, you’re a nurse,” or “If you can spout the law, you’re a lawyer.” I get that the phrase is meant to encourage aspiring writers or maybe even seasoned ones who missed a word count or are…
If I were a man, I wouldn’t lie. I might let little ones slip here and there, but not the big ones. The big lies change everything; they cause irreparable damage. I’d know that. As a man, I would take responsibility for my actions, even if, along the way, I had become someone who mocked…
There is something about Sunday that justifies the rest of the week. It’s like a reconciliation of emotion, a washing away of frustrations. Sundays soften slights, and things that ran so deep and urgent on Monday become whispers on the last day of the week. There are no regrets on a Sunday; no mess-ups or…
I finished STAY almost two years ago, and in the middle of writing my next book, I lost the love. Some call it burnout, but I write romance, so lost love is more accurate. It’s not that I couldn’t write; I was still capable. I just didn’t want to. I wasn’t excited to sit down…
When I was sixteen, I went to Tower Records and asked if I could have this giant promo poster for the new Smiths album once the store took it down to make way for the next new releases. That was a thing back then. They gave them away on a first-ask basis. Anyway, I got…
Los Angeles is like the boyfriend you know is wrong for you, but the sex is good. I recently moved back to Phoenix. We bought a great little historic house near downtown. I have a gorgeous upstairs office with a brick wall. The house has creaky floors and great molding. It’s lovely, sun-dabbled, with an…
I bought this lamp on 1st Dibs. After reviewing the pictures, I decided I had to have it. It was delicate and spoke to a part of me that always longed for sophistication, if only on my nightstand. I imagined the tiny fairy lamp next to the yellow tray where I put my earrings before…
As a child, I imagined my body as a construction site. I am not sure where this originated, but I believed tiny workers in hardhats were throughout my body and in charge of my significant systems. If I had a stomach ache, I would say, “The guys in my tummy are working hard today.” Weird?…
If I were eleven, I would smell like sweat and sunscreen. I would live in a neighborhood with a windy road and a hill so I could ride my bike, the blue one with the peeling sticker, and never get bored. My bike would have a broken kickstand. I’d have to lay it near the…
