My close friend is a family therapist and once told me her favorite clients are children with non-verbal learning disorders, because of their loving dispositions—naiveté, clumsiness, big hearts, and an utter inability to connect with other children. She loves that they talk too close, constantly knock things over, say the wrong thing, and still get lost on the way to the restroom down the hall in an office they've been coming to for five years. Often they can't walk up the stairs and talk at the same time, their clothes are inside out and their lack of motor skills means they can't brush their own teeth. If you tell them to jump in a lake, they probably will. Frustrating, to say the least.  Continue reading...

Once upon a time, my husband and I went to Vienna on a vacation and fell in love. Not with each other -- we'd already done that -- but with the city.  Continue reading...

Each year, my family gathered at my uncle's brick Tudor for Christmas dinner. It was an elegant affair, my uncle and aunt, generous hosts. Surrounded by several generations' worth of holiday décor, my aunt would lay their dining room table with rosy hams and a Rockwellian turkey, fruit pies that glistened, and all manner of chocolate treats. As a mother of three young children, I treasured the chance to sit, surrounded by those I loved best. We'd eat while reminiscing over the past, sharing our news from the present, and, occasionally, our hopes for the future.  Continue reading...

One day while reading the newspaper I happened across a small, four-inch item about a woman who infiltrated a drug ring and helped bring down a major distributor in a small town in Michigan. She was a single mother with several children, had no background in law enforcement, and had just lost her oldest son in a car accident. The news story did not give many details about the woman or how she managed to get on the drug task force. It only said that she did so at great personal risk.  Continue reading...

Matters of Faith is my second novel, and I'm delighted that the advance reviews have been fabulous. They've also surprised me with their clear understanding of exactly what I was trying to write about, not because I think critics are thick, but because I tend to think for years and years about a story, and am convinced that it's clear in my head, but am often concerned that I was able to get it down as clearly on the page. And now I get to try to actually explain that process? You're brave people, you really are.  Continue reading...

"What was it like, writing a book together?"

This is the second question people always ask — after "Are you identical twins?" — when we tell them that we recently finished Turning Tables, a novel based on our experiences waiting tables. That we wrote it while living on opposite coasts sparks the next question: "Wow, did you ever argue?"

Apparently, yes.  Continue reading...

I always hated Shakespeare.

They made me read him. First it was Julius Caesar. Then Romeo & Juliet, which was only cool because we wasted a week watching the movie. Next came Henry IV, Part One. I said, "You've got to be kidding," and scraped by on class discussions. The Bard and I were not friendly.

So how did I end up writing The Master of Verona, a novel based on his works?  Continue reading...