Sometimes we can choose the paths we follow. Sometimes our choices are made for us. And sometimes we have no choice at all.

Shadow looked down at the girl on the table. “What happened to her?” he asked. “Poor taste in boyfriends,” said Jacquel. “It’s not always fatal.

Watch out for that pedestrian!" "It's on the street, it knows the risks it's taking!

A novel seemed the easiest way to get what I had had in my head into the inside of other people's heads. Books are good that way.

He sighed. It was a long sigh, weary and worldly-wise. The kind of sigh you could picture God heaving after six days of hard work and looking forward to some serious cosmic R&R, only to be handed a report by an angel concerning a problem with someone eating an apple.

Short stories are tiny windows into other worlds and other minds and dreams. They are journeys you can make to the far side of the universe and still be back in time for dinner.

Sometimes I wish that just solving the plot problems was enough. And then elves would go and do all the actual work moving the words around.