Asking myself, why am I writing a novel about a certain time and place in history, the answer hides behind the trunks of trees at twilight. Wondering, has it not already been written about by so many others and what do I have to offer that is new, I find the answer come morning. I put on my earphones to hear a really old Aretha Franklin song while I stand upon the mossy grass in my front yard, sunshine falling like rain. What I have to offer, through the characters I create and the vivid world I set them in, is how it feels to have lived in such a time and place. Having an emotional connection to the knowledge we absorb allows us to know (even when we don't understand) that we are each other, despite so many disguises.

I spent the morning talking with young writers at Paulsboro Middle School. Eighth graders who already have a thing for words! I envy them their fresh, raw perspective. I offered them the advice: read, read, read and write without worrying about who might ever read it. The act of writing is the cake, a reader would just be frosting.