You Really Can Be Anything

That's me at about four years old, and that's my dad. (Don't worry. He doesn't have the mustache anymore.)

Yep.

As soon as I was old enough to put letters into something that might be a word, I would sit with a yellow legal pad, gripping one of those fat, green pencils, my hair in a ponytail, pushing my always-too-long bangs out of my eyes, writing out my stories.

I made up people, and I wrote about them. At 32, not a lot has changed.

Except, of course, that today my debut novel LOSING CLEMENTINE comes out. It’s a big day when your childhood dream comes true. So thank you.

Thank you to the editors, the publicists, the designers and printers. Thank you to my agent and the whole team that made this possible. Thank you to my friends and my family. And most especially thank you to the readers. Thank you, thank you, thank you.