I was kind of an outsider growing up, and I preferred reading to being with other kids. When I was about seven, I started to write my own books. I never thought of myself as wanting to be a writer… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
I have a fondness for writing about precocious, troubled teenagers, who are alienating, but kind of endearing. It's from remembering so clearly that time in my own life. I experienced myself as more dramatically troubled than I was, but I… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
Everyone has read about or knows someone who has gone through fertility treatments. It is an emotional nightmare, fueled by false hope and the… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
“Still, he loved her. She knew that. He loved her the best way he could. But she wasn't sure that was enough anymore.” — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
“On April 18, 1906, when that earthquake hit San Francisco and took David from her, Vivien began to speak the language of grief. She… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
I have learned that there is more power in a good strong hug than in a thousand meaningful words. — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
Babies make you do things for them. They get you up and they get you moving. — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
I was a daughterless mother. I had nowhere to put the things a mother places on her daughter. The nail polish I used to… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
For reasons I can't remember, my family eventually stopped attending church, and I started questioning the Catholic Church's beliefs. I dabbled a little, but… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
Since my brother died in 1982, my parents and I had formed a shaky tripod of a family; now that I'd lost my father… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
“Nothing can stop the words so well as the mute alphabet of knit and purl. The curl of your cupped hand scoops up long… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
I learned to knit in 2002, six months after my 5-year-old daughter, Grace, died suddenly from a virulent form of strep. I was unable… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
If watching your child die is a parent's worst nightmare, imagine having to tell your other child that his sister is dead... Although I… — Ann Hood Copy Share Image
