Blood City III: The Massacre. I'd read the summary of it online, and frankly, it sounded like the directors had just decided to film my life.

The weird, weird thing about devastating loss is that life actually goes on. When you're faced with a tragedy, a loss so huge that you have no idea how you can live through it, somehow, the world keeps turning, the seconds keep ticking.

If it's commercial fiction that you want to write, it's story, story, story. You've got to get a story where if you tell it to somebody in a paragraph, they'll go, "Tell me more." And then when you start to write it, they continue to want to read more. And if you don't, it won't work.

Nudge: "I look like prep school Barbie. (looks at Max) Actually, you look like prep school Barbie. I'm just Barbie's friend.

I hate this guy,” Ari muttered, keeping his head down “There’s a club,” I told him. “The Haters of ter Borcht Club. Have you gotten your badge yet?

Ari smiled. The sun was shining, the weather was great, he was eating ice cream, and all his dreams were about to come true.

And then as always, I saw the prayer coming at me. And, as always, Number 1 killed me! Set me on fire, cooked me to medium rare and then ate me! I really, really, really hope I haven't just given away the ending of this story.