I guess life is full of maybes.

It was like the entire world was colluding to make me feel insane, and it was doing a really good job.

I've heard people on panels say, 'You must have a Web site. You need to tweet. Repeat the title of your book constantly,' and I just want to say, 'Shut up. Everything you're saying is wrong.' People will know instantly if your only motivation for tweeting is to sell books.

Writing is one of the few careers for which you essentially train yourself, the other two major ones being juggling and pickpocketing.

They weren't pressed together as closely as normal, but his shoulder bumped hers, then remained there. It was very subtle, and possibly even accidental, but it was enough.

I had always assumed the weekend was a holy tradition, respected by good people everywhere. Not so at Wexford.

Some nutter's gone and pulled a Jack the Ripper.