It's wonderful to play around with fantasy, because there are an amazing number of as-yet-unbroken rules out there.

My book group has one rule: no books for adults. We read young adult fiction only.

More than fantasy or even science fiction, Ray Bradbury wrote horror, and like so many great horror writers he was himself utterly without fear, of anything. He wasn't afraid of looking uncool - he wasn't scared to openly love innocence, or to be optimistic, or to write sentimentally when he felt that way.

Wasn't there a spell for making yourself happy? Somebody must have invented one. How could he have missed it? Why didn't they teach it? Was it in the library, a flying book fluttering just out of reach, beating its wings against some high window?

The problem with growing up is that once you're grown up, the people who aren't grown up aren't fun anymore.

I think every fantasy reader secretly believes they know how magic works.

I came from an anxious, overly intense East Coast academic family. That was the way of our tribe.