I'm not one of these 'the characters write themselves; the story just fell out of me' kind of writers. Wish it was like that.

Just be patient, she told herself, and with the mounting pages, the strength of her writing fist grew.

I guess if editing doesn't hurt, you're probably not doing it properly. I find it quite difficult. The hardest part is believing that it's actually working and getting rid of the doubt that always creeps in.

A snowball in the face is surely the perfect beginning to a lasting friendship.

Death waits for no man - and if he does, he doesn't usually wait for very long.

The pages and the words are my world, spread out before your eyes and for your hand to touch. Vaguely, I can see you face looking down into me, as I look back. Do you see my eyes?

She wanted none of those days to end, and it was always with disappointment that she watched the darkness stride forward.