Nice' in a bodyguard is about as useful as the ability to regurgitate whole lobsters.

I tweet, therefore my entire life has shrunk to 140 character chunks of instant event and predigested gnomic wisdom. And swearing.

His name is Marcus: he is four and a half and possesses that deep gravity and seriousness that only small children and mountain gorillas have ever been able to master.

I was not happy as a child, although from time to time I was content. I lived in books more than I lived anywhere else.

It goes without saying that all of the people, living, dead, and otherwise, in this story are fictional or used in a fictional context. Only the gods are real.

The world seemed to shimmer a little at the edges.

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.