Once upon a time, a little girl was raised by monsters. But angels burned the doorways to their world, and she was all alone.

I want to touch with my mouth. His mouth, with my mouth. Maybe his neck, too. But first things first: Make him aware I exist. It’s possible that he is already aware, if only in a ‘don't step on the small girl’ kind of way.

Oh, gross. Your stomach is full of butterfly barf!

You really think joy is easier to come by than pain? What have you had more of?

Nothing made you feel so useless as another person's grief.

I want.." she said, knowing what she wanted, feeling pulled toward it, arching toward it, but hardly knowing how to say it.

I started blogging in 2006 when I had sold my first novel but it had not yet been published, in those anxious months in between while I learned the whole process.