Get Back On That Bike.

With My Mom, When Someone Was Gone, They Were Gone. She Didn't Waste Another Minute Thinking About Them, And Neither Should You.

I Think Having A Good Agent Is Key. I've Been With Mine For Ten Years Now, And She's Very Honest With Me. There Are A Lot Of Times I've Sent Her Books That Were Not So Good Because I Was Tired Of Writing, Or Panicked About Money, And She's Told Me Flat Out, "you Don't Want This To Be Your Next Book. Trust Me."

As If It Didnt Matter What Was On, But Instead How Hard I Was Listening.

So Say I’m Your Mom.' 'what?' I Said. 'i’m Your Mom,' He Repeated. 'now Tell Me You Want To Quit Modeling.' I Could Feel Myself Blushing. 'i Can’t Do That,' I Said. 'why Not?' He Asked. 'is It So Hard To Believe? You Think I’m Not A Good Role-player?' 'no,' I Said. 'it’s Just–' 'because I Am. Everyone Wanted Me To Be Their Mother In Group.' I Just Looked At Him. 'i Just… It’s Weird.' 'no, It’s Hard. But Not Impossible. Just Try It.' A Week Earlier, I Hadn’t Even Known What Color His Eyes Were. Now, We Were Family. At Least Temporarily.

I Don't Know. Just Because Someone's Pretty Doesn't Mean She's Decent. Or Vice Versa. I'm Not Into Appearances. I Like Flaws, I Think They Make Things Interesting.