We love the zing of a snappy line, the mournful tones of a somber one, the cadence of a staccato beat of dialogue. Once you’re hooked on language, it’s a drug.
As a writer, I often get the question, “Where do you get your ideas?” I also hear it often at book readings when they open up the floor to questions. I love watching other, more famous writers, grind their teeth as they struggle to answer.
Jealousy is a bitch. Professional jealousy is a bitch with a book advance.
A woman must have money and a room of her own if she is to write fiction. – Virginia Woolf — Women writers just love old Ginny. We quote her chestnut about the ‘room of one’s own’ at the drop of a pen. The quote isn’t limited to fiction, but writing in general. Usually, it’s centered around the “room” part – the need for a physical space
I’ve been involved in a love triangle for almost twenty years. My two loves have never met, but the time is coming. My first love is the man with whom I’ve shared my public and private life; the other is my writing, a more private love. One would think they would be easy to introduce, but I have not found it so.
In the story of my life, libraries have been the setting. The answers I sought have always been found there, whether I was delving into Yeats’ symbolism or a breastfeeding dilemma. However, it was the question, “What shall I do with my life?” that somehow eluded me for so long. The answer was of course, at the library. I didn’t just want to read the books there – I wanted to write one, to make my own contribution to the catalog.