It was scary how much she sounded like me sometimes. Maybe that's why she totally got on my nerves

I'm in a Road Runner cartoon, Sinclair. And I'm the coyote.

He said my name the way diabetics talked about hot fudge sundaes.

I've got a folder full of rejection slips that I keep. Know why? Because those same editors are now calling my agent hoping I'll write a book or novella for them. Things change. A rejection slip today might mean a frantic call to your agent in six months.

Fredrika Bimm, what do you think you're doing?" "Freaking out. Losing my mind. Thinking about snapping your husband's spine. Squashing the urge to vomit. Wishing I had died at childbirth." "Oh, you say that when you don't get a prize in your Lucky Charms.

It's nice to see you again, Laura." "Thank you, Mrs. T-" "No, no, no. Please, my name is-" "Mud," I suggested. "Mud Barfbag Taylor. Call her Asshat for short." ~Laura, Antonia, Betsy

I know it's practical for career women, but sneakers with suits? Jesus couldn't possibly weep harder than I did.