I have a confession to make. The US title of my most recent book, EVERYTHING YOU WANT ME TO BE, might be more descriptive of me than it is of Hattie. Hattie Hoffman, our dangerous chameleon who becomes all things to all people, took on roles as it suited her whims until the consequences finally . . .
I’ve been thinking about the nineties lately, maybe because of a number one essential album, or because my newest heroine is struggling through her late teenage years and I’ve realized half my life has passed since I was in her place, but somehow those limitless nights and Ragstock-clothed, paper organizer structured days don’t feel too . . .
When I found out I was pregnant with my first baby, I didn’t run out and start buying cute outfits or plan the nursery decor. I began stocking the library. I daydreamed about reading certain beloved books to my child and passing on the passion for literature that I’d discovered by my mother’s side as . . .
Hello, gentle reader. It’s been a while, hasn’t it? I don’t know about you, but the chill in the air and the crunch of the leaves makes me want to burrow under a quilt and write. Not that I haven’t been writing in the last four months, but obviously none of my scribbles made it . . .
Had to share this one, fellow writers.