They are enthusiasts, devotees. Addicts. Something about the circus stirs their souls, and they ache for it when it is absent. They seek each other out, these people of such specific like mind. They tell of how they found the circus, how those first few steps were like magic. Like stepping into a fairy tale under a curtain of stars… When they depart, they shake hands and embrace like old friends, even if they have only just met, and as they go their separate ways they feel less alone than they had before.

The fact that people are already reading and loving something I wrote is still hard to believe.

I have tried to let you go and I cannot. I cannot stop thinking of you. I cannot stop dreaming about you.

I didn't know your identity, but I had an impression of who my opponent was, being surrounded by things you made.

Because I do not wish to know,” he says. “I prefer to remain unenlightened, to better appreciate the dark.

I don't always write in order, so composing multi-book stories could get complicated.

Are we going to discuss whatever it is you are here to discuss instead of dancing around it?” he asks. “I was never a particularly good dancer.