When I find research really rewarding is when one piece of information gives you an idea for a story. That's when it's great.

Tears were frozen to the book theif's face.

The bombs were coming-and so was I.

I’m Angelina,” she says. “Are you here to save us?” I can see a tiny spark of hope awaken in her eyes. “You’re right, Angelina - I’m here to save you.” “Can you? Really?” “I’ll try,” I say and the girl smiles.

People observe the colors of a day only at its beginnings and ends, but to me it's quite clear that a day merges through a multitude of shades and intonations with each passing moment. A single hour can consist of thousands of different colors. Waxy yellows, cloud-spot blues. Murky darkness. In my line of work, I make it a point to notice them.

When death captures me," the boy vowed, "he will feel my fist in his face." (31.26)

...there would be punishment and pain, and there would be happiness, too. That was writing.