Well,” she said. “I’m frustrated.” “Don’t make me angry-kiss you.” “Give me the laundry.” “Tempers rising, faces flushed … This is how it happens.
Fighting doesn’t feel good anymore. It feels like breaking something because you don’t know how to fix it.
My favorite Starbucks is nice - Omaha Starbucks stores tend to be friendlier than big-city ones, and the baristas are especially lovely at mine - but it's still a Starbucks.
I can't seem to help writing love stories. I definitely crave romance. When I was young, I craved romance in books, but I didn't want to read just romance - love plays such a big part in our lives, it shouldn't be cut out and restricted to its own fiction.
I feel like some sort of fiction-writing hobo, jumping trains and always hoping I'll find a good place to start a fire in the next town. And I keep having these panicky episodes where I corner my husband and rant at him: 'I don't have anywhere to write! I can't write! I don't have a place to write!'
In my mind, every single female character I've written is plus-size.
