He liked the staccato beat of the rain drumming on the roof of the carving shed.

Meg, you have to go. I can't.

I was sitting in my kitchen agonizing over my Christmas grocery list when I heard the noise.

Our canoe raced toward the rock.

They arrived without warning on a perfect Indian summer day.

A loon called from across the lake in the hushed stillness of the rising moon.

I could feel his eyes drilling into my back.

Though I didn’t start out plotting a life for Meg, it happened as the writing and the storylines unfolded, much like life itself. I would place obstacles in Meg’s way and see how she handled them. Sometimes she overcame them with ease, other times with great difficulty.