Then I thought, boy, isn't that just typical? You wait and wait and wait for something, and then when it happens, you feel sad.

I cannot just write a frivolous book, a la-di-da book. Everything isn't la-di-da. There is something that's going to pull you up short. I want to reassure young readers. I want to comfort them, to not fear the unexpected.

When I read good stories, I want to write good stories too.

I was wishing I was invisible. Outside, the leaves were falling to the ground, and I was infinitely sad, sad down to my bones. I was sad for Phoebe and her parents and Prudence and Mike, sad for the leaves that were dying, and sad for myself, for something I had lost.

You can't keep the birds of sadness from flying over your head, but you can keep them from nesting in your hair.

I love the way that each book—any book—is its own journey. You open it, and off you go….