How To Commit The Perfect Murder" Was

There Wasn't A Lot Of Bullshit In My Heaven.

I Don't Do Much Public Speaking. I Did A Lot Of Stuff For Bones, And Then Ended Up Having Said Yes To A Lot Of Things That Kept Me On The Road For A While For That, But Then I Pretty Much Stopped. I'm Touring For This Book, But When The Tour Is Done, That'll Be The End Of It.

No One On The Street Thought Anything Of The Downtown Girl Dressed In Black Who Had Paused In The Middle Of Midtown Foot Traffic. In Her Art Student Camouflage She Could Walk The Entire Length Of Manhattan And, If Not Blend In, Be Classified And Therefore Ignored.

His Love For My Mother Wasn't About Looking Back And Loving Something That Would Never Change. It Was About Loving My Mother For Everything -- For Her Brokenness And Her Fleeing, For Her Being There Right Then In That Moment Before The Sun Rose And The Hospital Staff Came In. It Was About Touching That Hair With The Side Of His Fingertip, And Knowing Yet Plumbing Fearlessly The Depths Of Her Ocean Eyes.

Each Time I Told My Story, I Lost A Bit, The Smallest Drop Of Pain.