The air between them began to settle into a silence. Awkward, yet softly exciting. Like an unexpected snow day.

The truth is, time marches on and you have two choices: You move forward, come what may, and you experience all the sour and sweet things that fly at you from around corners, or you sit still. Don't sit still.

Listen Samuel, really, voice of experience here? It's a terrible burden, being idealistic. It discolors everything you'll do later. It will haunt you constantly for all time as you become the inevitably cynical person the world requires you to be. Just give up on it now, the idealism, doing the right thing. Then you'll have nothing to regret later.

She has never before given herself over to anyone-she'd always parceled herself out little by little. This bit for Samuel, some small part for her father, barely anything for Henry. She'd never put all of herself in just one place. It felt too risky. Because her great and constant fear all these years was that if anyone ever came to know all of her--the real her, the true deep essential Faye--they would not find enough stuff there to love. Hers was not a soul large enough to nourish another.

Collies, coffee and, murder most foul!

Because one thing she’s learned through all this is that if a new beginning is really new; it will feel like a crisis. Any real change should make you feel, at first, afraid;

People are afraid of the things they don't understand. Don't let them impose their way of thinking on you. And above all... Don't let them steal your happiness! If that's what makes you happy, pursue it!

Let me tell something... My kin may be insentient, as you proclaimed, but I have read our history. I know what we used to be afraid of. We all feared that by breaking down, we wouldn't be able to rise and thrive again. But you know what they say? It is the broken ones that always become masters at mending... It is the bird with the broken wings that sings the sweetest and most beautiful songs...

Sorrow? So that was it then? All I knew about this emotion was how it used to turn life into nightmare eons ago, just like a thorn could steal away a rose’s beauty.

For me, and other ‘first timers’ [debut authors] I’ve spoken to, the primary concern is whether the story is good enough. With your first book there is no objective bench-mark you can judge it by. I felt very protective of the first draft; are people going to laugh when they read it or just shake their head? It sounds strange but the book was part of me. (Jon Gliddon interview on sevencircumstances.com)