It could have been like a fairy tale. But fairy tales aren’t real. Things don’t work like that. There’s a price for everything.

Why was she so anxious? Because she had anxiety.

Writing is a lot of sitting down... It’s a lot of trying things out and screwing up... It’s either amazing or it’s the worst thing in the world. Sometimes it goes well, and it’s all you think about, and then, it’s gone. It’s like you’re taking a ride down a river really fast, and then all of a sudden, there’s no water. You’re just sitting in a raft, trying to push it along in the mud. And then you’ve become me.

There is something about early mornings that changes your perceptions subtly. The light is new; no one has put on the defences of the day. All is reset and not quite real yet.

Don-Keun was a new man. The moment they arrived, he vanished for a second. We heard muffled ecstatic screaming coming from somewhere in the back of the Waffle House kitchen, then he reappeared, his face shining with the kind of radiance usually associated with religious epiphany.

There were for sure snakes at the camp. It was entirely made of snakes. Why hadn’t she thought of the snakes?

You don’t get things past librarians.

Stevie said stuff like that all the time and was told she was wrong. David said it once and he got a nod and a compliment. Oh, the magic of dudes. If only they bottled it.

Vitamin D,” Stevie said. “You need it.” “You don’t know that,” he said. “I want to eat my meat in my room with the lights off.” “As a writer, are those really the words you want to use?” Stevie asked.

Once again, her parents’ problems had run through her life like a piece of heavy equipment, smashing everything in their way.