I don't think you can write - at least not well - if you don't love stories, love the written word.

Men shake hands after they beat each other up; we eat chocolate.

It's called male bonding. You'll never get it. I believe women are as capable as men, deserve equal pay—and that one day, should be sooner than later, in my opinion, the right woman can and should be leader of the free world. But you can't understand the male bonding rituals any more than men can understand why the vast majority of women are obsessed with shoes and other footwear.

The outward appearance would never indicate they were brothers. (...) But she could see that at the moment they were as united as triplets in the womb.

Since it was there, Larkin got another bowl, spooned up stew for himself. “He fights with us. We’re an army.” “An army? Talk about delusions of grandeur. What are you?” she asked Glenna. “Witch.” “So, we’ve got a witch, a sorcerer, a couple of refugees from Geall and a vampire. Some army.

I have no idea why it apparently takes three grown men to cook some hamburgers. One to cook, one to kibbitz, and one to insult the other two.

Even a good place gets to be a rut, especially if you're standing in it alone... Alone and lonely have the same root.