She uses simple and clear language.
She is not afraid to speak her mind.
When she writes, she is not trying to be a “writer.”
She is herself, and her readers follow her everywhere.
She is intentional about her decisions.
She knows that unoriginality is the enemy of good writing.
She understands the challenge is not writing but writing like everybody else.
She understands a crucial decision about a piece of writing is where to end it.
She often finds the story will tell her where it wants to stop.
She doesn’t whine; her readers don’t connect with whining.
When she wants to get rid of her anger, she does it somewhere else.
Her writing is full of love and forgiveness.
She tells her readers she is not a victim.
I come from a tribe of deceiving people.
I have survived without resentment, and I’m living my life.
For her, writing is an act of healing.
The small stories that still stick in her memory have a resonance of their own, and she trusts them.
She remembers her biggest stories will often have less to do with their subject than with their significance — not what she did in a given situation, but how that situation affected her and shaped the person she became.
She knows what matters is the writing itself, not the medium where it’s published. So she always tries to write as well as she could by her standards.
She is reliable; she has learned editors will drop a writer they can’t count on.
Her writing is hers and nobody else.
She takes her talent as far as she can and guards it with her life.
Only she knows how far that is; no editor knows.
She believes in herself, takes risks, dares to be different and pushes herself to excel.