Check out her answers, personality, book and website.
Which compliment related to your writing has meant the most and why?
When I first submitted my manuscript to the folks at Waterbrook, one of them said something about me being a Christian counterpart to Douglas Coupland. They had no way of knowing, of course, that Douglas Coupland is one of my top 5 favorite authors ever! So when I heard that, I really swooned. :)
What criticism has cut the deepest and why?
Luckily my books have been pretty well received and there hasn't been a lot of criticism--at least not any that was any big deal. However,Publishers Weekly said (in their opening sentence, too, which I didn't think was a very kind way to start!) that "Worlds Collide" was "overly long." If only they'd seen the original, which was 20,000 words (nearly 100 pages!) thicker! I went through that thing countless times, looking for stuff I could remove, and I felt in the end that it all had to be there. So to have someone tell me that some of it was superfluous--well, that really ticked me off.
How does something worm its way into your heart? Through tears, truth,humor – other?
Through beauty. Beautiful things get to me--they either break my heart (even if they're good!) or they move me deeply.
What makes you feel most alive?
When I'm speaking to a group, like teaching or presenting. I love public speaking. :)
What would you write if there were no rules or barriers?
If by barriers you mean things like my own inability to do them, I'd say write profound yet accessible fiction that moves people to reevaluate their view of the world and God. I don't want to just entertain; I don't want to write fluff. I want my books to move people and really affect them.
Take this recipe and write a scene - unidentifiable antique, the scent of pipe tobacco and the drizzle of rain.
The tap of rain on the row house's dingy windowpanes echoed the drum of the professor's fingers on his desk. His eyes were locked on thec urious object, yet his gaze seemed empty, as though his mind's eye were staring at something entirely different. The small box which had contained the object now lay forgotten on top of a pile of fading magazines, one of many such piles that cluttered the warped wood floor and made the spacious Victorian flat feel as cramped as the servant's quarters. The tick of the grandfather clock in the corner was lost under the sound of Glasgow's winter rain, and when it chimed the hour the professor jumped from his reverie. Shaking his head at the time lost in thought, he pulled his favorite pipe from the top drawer of the massive cherry desk and packed it with his most fragrant tobacco.Only the pungent scent of the smoke would be able to clear his head enough for him to focus properly.