There are stories within stories, whispered in the quiet of the night, shouted above the roar of the day, and played out between lovers and enemies, strangers and friends. But all are fragile things made of just twenty-six letters arranged and re-arranged to form tales and imaginings which will dazzle your senses, haunt your imagination and move you to the very depths of your soul.

This was the void. Not blackness, not nothingness. This was what lay beneath the thinly painted scrim of reality.

The cat looked as if it were about to say something sarcastic. Then it flicked its whiskers and said, "Challenge her. There's no guarantee she'll play fair, but her kind of thing loves games and challenges.

Write. Finish things. Get them published. Write something else while you're waiting for someone to publish the first thing.

I was always so relieved that anyone wants to publish anything I've written.

Actually I didn't shoot a man in Reno just to watch him die, but he could tell I was extremely cross.

Sometimes human beings are very much like bees. Bees are fiercely protective of their hive, provided you are outside it. Once you’re in, the workers sort of assume that it must have been cleared by management and take no notice; various freeloading insects have evolved a mellifluous existence because of this very fact. Humans act the same way.