Robin Goodfellow, for all his pranks and mischief, was the sweetest, most noble person I'd ever known, and I'd missed him terribly.

I wished that, for once, faery tales – real faery tales, not Disney fairy tales – would have a happy ending.

Metallic trees. That's new. If you see any steel dryads, be sure to tell me so I can run away screaming.

When I wrote my first story, all the characters were teenagers because I think 16, 17 is a great age.

The mighty hunter," I quipped as we snuck out the backdoor, escaping into the yard. "He can take down vicious rabids and rampaging boars, but one old lady can make him flee in terror.""One scary old lady," he corrected me, looking relieved to be out of the house. "You didn't hear what she told me when I got up - you're so cute I could put you in a pie. Tell me that's not the creepiest thing you've ever heard." His voice climbed a few octaves, turning shrill and breathy. "Today for dessert, we have apple pie, blueberry pie and Ezekiel pie.

My, aren't we bossy today. Give a girl an army and it goes straight to her head.

I get up, get coffee, and go into my home office. I check email and Twitter before I start work, but I have to try not to get too distracted.