I'm not writing great literature. I'm writing commercial fiction for people to enjoy the stories and to like the characters.

Ben locked his eyes on mine for a long moment. Then, “How?” “How do you think?” I smiled, then slapped him full across the face

Bones tell me the story of a person's life - how old they were, what their gender was, their ancestral background.

Ben yanked Hi sideways as spikes snapped from the wall…Once again, only Ben’s reflexes had saved him. “Please stop doing that!” Ben barked. “Please keep doing that!” Hi warbled.

Who's going to rob us? A crackhead crab? A jellyfish junkie?

My line of work makes you aware of the fragility of life. You can get up in the morning, eat your cornflakes, blow-dry your hair, go to work and end up dead.

Tory a father isn’t supposed to fear his fourteen-year-old daughter. That being sad, you terrify me.