What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?

The process of giving is without limits.

I'm not sure I believe in the whole 'ghost-afterlife' thing, but I think places are marked by people who have been there.

The battle of good and evil reduced to a fat woman standing in front of a chocolate shop, saying, Will I? Won’t I? in pitiful indecision.

You don't write because someone sets assignments! You write because you need to write, or because you hope someone will listen or because writing will mend something broken inside you or bring something back to life.

It isn't just a village. The houses aren't just places to live. Everything belongs to everybody. Everyone belongs to everyone else. Even a single person can make a difference.

What is a writer of fiction but a liar with a licence?