most hated by the dark, for their name is light.

One man sees a riselka: his life forks there. Two men see a riselka: one of them shall die. Three men see a riselka: one is blessed, one forks, one shall die.

Dave hung up. And unplugged the phone. With a fierce and bitter pain he stared at it, watching how, over and over again, it didn't ring.

Men made wagers with their judgment, their allegiances, their resources.

We salvage what we can, what truly matters to us, even at the gates of despair.

It can be hard to write a skillfully entertaining fiction, but a great book wants to be more, and wants more from us.

We are all shaped by where we grow up, though that shaping takes different forms. I dont think theres any doubt that coming of age in Winnipeg both opened my eyes and made me hungry - if I can subvert all claims to be a real writer by mixing metaphors like that.