Harper Lee made me fall in love with a book.
Alice Hoffman makes me want to sit outside and describe the world exactly the way it is: gorgeous and strange and utterly amazing.
Billy Collins writes poems that lift off the page and make a beeline toward the center of my heart.
Judy Blume helped me to figure out what I was feeling.
Lois Lowry turned me into a library stalker.
Alice Walker blew my mind.
Casey Flinn wrote stories and poems in college that wouldn’t leave me.
Jane Austen turned me into an eternal follower.
O. Henry thrilled me.
Flannery O’Connor sweetly shocked me.
Kathryn Stockett propelled me back to the days of sleeping with a book by my side.
Anne Sexton reminded me that poetry can sound like everyday life.
Jennifer Atkinson made me feel blissful to be a writer.
Sylvia Plath. Oh, Sylvia Plath.
Amy Bloom convinced me that a short story writer is still a novelist.
Jhumpa Lahiri knocked me off my feet.
Zadie Smith made me angry.
David Schickler hypnotized me.
My mother engendered the love.