It’s not about finding Mr Right, or that sort of conventional ending, but I do want my characters to have hope – and that’s what I do with all my stories.
Day-to-day things, the mundane, are what keeps the motor running. How extraordinary the ordinary really is, a tool we all use to keep going, a template for sanity.
You can run and run as fast and as far as you like, but the truth is, wherever you run, there you are.
Why do we stop believing in ourselves? Why do we let facts and figures and anything but dreams rule our lives?
Nobody can pretend to know what people want to read or hear or see. People rarely know it themselves; they only know it after the fact.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with returning to the house you grew up in every now and again. It’s good for the soul.
Always a chancer, always lucky, he’d fall into a river and come out dry, with fish in his pockets.
Have you ever not known something but known it at the same time?
It’s not easy remembering the good times.
I lost my dad. He lost his tomorrows and I lost all the tomorrows with him. You could say that now, I appreciate them when they come. Now, I want to make them the best they can possibly be.
Moments are precious, sometimes they linger and other times they’re fleeing, and yet so much could be done in them; you could change a mind, you could save a life and you could even fall in love.
I would love to write a mystery – a romantic, funny mystery.
Being the best was as equal to being in the middle, which was equal to being the worst. All were merely a state of being. It was how a person felt in that state and why they were in that state that was the important thing.
His entired life bundled into wenty refuse sacks. His and her memories bundle away in Holly’s mind. Each item unearthed dust, tears, laughter and memories. She bagged the items, cleared the dust, wiped her eyes and filed away the memories.
To mention it was to ask a favor and that as you were too generous, and as for her to ask was always to have, she wouldn’t.
The first day of the rest of my life, and I’m not sure I want to be here. I know I should be thanking somebody for this, but I really don’t feel like it. Instead, I wish they hadn’t bothered.
She needed to talk, she needed to cry, she needed to vent all her frustrations and disappointments.
Our minds do unusual things sometimes, Tamara. When we’re looking for things it takes it upon itself to go down its own route. All we can do is follow.
That somehow dreams are a blurred line between here and there, like a meeting room in a prison. You’re both in the same room, yet on different sides and really, in different worlds.
Two lost things that had survived the seas and arrived on a coastline. What did they do? They implanted themselves in the sand and grew into trees and lined the beaches. Sometimes a lot can come of being all washed up. You can really grow.