What's the point? was my attitude. We're all just going to die and then NOT be let on the boat.

But once I'd come up with it, I realized it really was the perfect plan. Instead of waiting for Maria to come to me, I was simply going to go to her and, well... Send her back to where she came. Or reduce her to a mound of quivering gelatinous goo. Whichever came first.

You didn't," John said, stepping from the shadows as he clapped for me, "even hit your head this time.

I was the kind of kid who couldn't really stop making up stories during class. I didn't do very well academically because I was always drawing these little doodles in the margins of my notebooks and I wasn't bringing home the best grades.

I needed another soda. I’d only had six since breakfast.

Usually writer's block arises when something is wrong internally with the story.

I thought about telling him the truth: 'Oh, nothing. Just having my soul exorcised so I can roam around purgatory, looking for the ghost of the dead cowboy who used to live in my bedroom.