I used to scoff at those people who had panic attacks. “The cake is late! Oh no! I’m freaking out! I can’t breathe!” Ridiculous. Hysterical. Over-reacting.

My advice to anyone who writes: Try writing one sentence per line. I’ve been doing it for twenty years, and it improved my writing more than anything else.

Growing up in America, I didn’t know much about other cultures.

My Sivers ancestors came from Grantham, Lincolnshire, England on a boat to America in 1849. The boat crashed on rocks in the Irish sea, caught fire in the Atlantic Ocean, got pushed off course repeatedly by storms, and finally landed in New Orleans after two months. New Orleans was overcome with cholera, so they hopped a steam boat up the Mississippi River to St. Louis. Cholera killed nine passengers and the pilot of the boat. Days after they arrived in St. Louis, the city caught fire so they escaped in a covered wagon to Glenwood Iowa, finally arriving after three more months. In 1890, one of their sons ventured to the wild west of Colorado to pursue an opportunity.

I was living on the beach in Santa Monica, California, and life was perfect. I was in paradise, and deeply happy.

I love having my own store so I can make things the way I think they should be.

I used to have too many pets.

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Six weeks ago I emailed my private email list with a secret link to buy my new books.