The man was useless as tits on a bull, but he didn't deserve to die like that.

I think writer is a word without gender, and a good writer observes, absorbs, hopefully empathizes then translates that into character and story. You don’t have to do or be or have experienced, traveled to, but you have to imagine all of that, very well–and believe it completely during the bubble of the work.

He decided there was no point in telling her he'd looked in the fridge and seen none of these things. There'd just be some variation of his mother's standard crack about Male Refrigeration Blindness Syndrome.

Holding onto something that's gone only makes a sickness inside.

To fate and the strange way that it twists us all together.

Don't worry."... "We are right behind you." "Notice," Lilah added with a smile, "the direction is behind.

"It doesn't matter how long it takes." She thought of him, of them, the lifetime already shared. "It's how long it lasts."