I walked in on my folks doing it doggy style less than four hours ago." "Waitress!" Jonas screamed, clicking his fingers madly. "Bring two!" then, more quietly,"You want a neck massage? A bedtime story? A bullet in the ear?

All writers are crazy. So never mind what the editors and your family and your critique group tells you. Submit your manuscripts and keep submitting until you get an offer. Then you can be crazy, with a paycheck.

We have souls. Sure we do. Otherwise we'd do bad things all the time. You know, like politicians.

Never, EVER give up. Not ever. Not EVER. Ever EVER!

You'll pay," she said stonily. "You won't be like this by this time tomorrow." "Bored and pissed off? God, I hope not.

Majesty, I beg your forgiveness for the idignity you suffered and offer you the head of our enemy as—" "Put that thing down," I said impatiently. "I can't talk to you when you're shaking his head like a damned maraca.

He snarled at me. "This isn't over yet, Betsy." "Excellent," I said. "I would also have accepted 'You haven't seen the last of me' and 'You'll regret this'.