They say what a person reads says a lot about them. I've certainly learned a great deal since becoming an author about reading preferences and how unique they truly are. I'll be at an author event right next to the person selling what seems like the weirdest, most uber niche-based book there, and yet I'll watch people walk past my booth and buy the weird, uber niche-based book. It takes all kinds of readers. And all kinds of books.

I was talking the other day with my six-year-old nephew about a humorous card I had mailed to his house--one that featured a cat poop joke--and told him that Clementine (my cat) had liked it, too.

I was talking to a friend of mine the other day, one who I grew up with back in Oregon, and she was telling me about the book she's writing. It's about her life, and as she was telling me about some of the events that will be included in the book, I was shocked.

I was on the toilet, if you must know. It was the early nineties, I was probably ten or eleven years old, and the magazine keeping me company at that moment was a Redbook with Meg Ryan on the cover.

I'm just about 2/3 done with my second book. Which feels like progress. And it is. But I'm finding this last 1/3 to be much harder to write than the first 1/3.