“I could write stories about my dreams that would make a person’s skin peel from their bones.”

“I could write stories; I could hide from the world and make my own instead of trying to change it or live in it. I could make paper people and I would love them too; I could make them almost real.”

“I peeled the skin off a grape in slippery little triangles, and I understood then that I would be undressing every item of food I could because my clothes would be staying on.”

“How I saw in her my own true nature. What was beneath my skin. Inside my bones... Even though I was young, I could see the pain of the flesh and the worth of the pain. This is how a daughter honors her mother. It is shou so deep it is in your bones. The pain of the flesh is nothing. The pain you must forget. Because sometimes that is the only way to remember what is in your bones. You must peel off your skin, and that of your mother, and her mother before her. Until there is nothing. No scar, no skin, no flesh. ”

“Grace. I held on to that name. If I kept that in my head, I would be OK.Grace.I was shaking, shaking; my skin peeling away.Grace.My bones squeezed, pinched, pressed against my muscles.Grace.Her eyes held me even after I stopped feeling her fingers gripping my arms.Sam," she said. "Don't go.”

“I write my stories for my children, the best fan club a writer could ever have. They keep me writing and make it fun.”