This is fusion, when two people become one. They are so close and so well suited to each other that they blend together. They merge and can't live without each other after that.
I love what I do. I'm so lucky.
Each book takes anywhere from two to three years to complete, from concept to outline to final edits. I work on as many as five at a time.
You'd be surprised how fast things happen when the right man comes along.
I'm one of them. The weirdos and the freaks. My point was that it's ok to be different, and from now on we'd better be, if we're going to make something of ourselves. It's the one thing I learned in school. Different is ok. -Victoria
I always try to write about believable people.
Somehow you drift along on the river, and one day you wake up and you’re someplace you don’t want to be, with someone you realize you don’t know.
So often people tell me: you got me through this, you've really helped me. And I never realized that part of what I do is that I give people hope.
I try to write about the stuff that torments us all.
I grew up with my father, so I know more about cars than most women.
I never met a chocolate I could not eat.
I publish six books a year now, which is very exciting. But it keeps me into my typewriter at all times! Now that my children have grown up, I'm with my typewriter 20 hours a day.
I just write all the time! I'm always working. I usually work on several books at once.
People do strange things sometimes, when they feel hopeless.
I'm astonished by my success.
You can have anything you want, if you go out and get it. If you claim it as your own. You have a right to it.
For the moment, my life is a little schizophrenic.
I think I'm very real as a person, and that comes across in my work.
The way the world sees women vs. men is a subject that really interests me.
The usual way - through a long series of rejections, revising my manuscripts, and kept trying again and again. Finally I was fortunate enough to find a good agent.
What’s ready? Was Steinback ready? Hemingway? Shakespeare? Dickens? Jane Austen? They just did it, didn’t they?
You can’t move ahead until you bury the past.
Her life was beginning to make sense again, although she couldn’t say she was enjoying it. But her mind was clear, and her heart was not constantly as heavy. Only when she thought about him. But she knew that in time, she’d survive it. She had done it before and would again. Eventually the heart repairs.
Somebody once said to me that photography and writing don't get respect because people think that they can do it, too.
In my late teenage years, I developed a real passion for it, and wrote a lot of poetry.
"I love what I do. I'm so lucky."
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