It Was Hard Not To

I'm A Much Better Writer For Being A Father.

Even For A Girl Like Me, Then, There Comes A Day When She Can Stop Surviving And Start Living. To Survive, You Have To Look Good Or Talk Good. But To End Your Story Well-- Here Is The Truth-- You Have To Talk Yourself Out Of It.

[my Maternal Grandmother ] Was A Teacher In London And Elsewhere During The War, Although The Children She Taught Were Not The "lost Children" Who Feature In The Novel - Those Come From My Research.

My Maternal Grandmother Was In London During The Blitz. Indeed, The Man She Was Dating Before She Met My Grandfather Was Killed Beside Her In A Cinema, In 1941, When A Bomb Came Through The Roof - A Tragedy In Which She Herself Was Badly Wounded.

Our Own Personal Brand Of Courage - In Relationships, In Conflict, In Our Principles ­ - Is As Unique As Our Fingerprints.