Why?” He tilted his head. “That’s a tricky one. Could it be your serenity, your quiet manner, your flawless fashion sense?” It did his heart good to see her quick, amused grin. “No, I must be thinking of someone else. It must be your courage, your absolute dedication to balancing scales, that restless mind, and that sweet corner of your heart that pushes you to care so much about so many.” “That’s not me.” “Oh, but it is you, darling Eve.

I generally write a first draft that's pretty lean. Just get the story down.

If you write in category, you write knowing there's a framework, there are reader expectations.

Up to this point your life has pretty much sucked. You’re not responsible for that. But you are responsible for what happens from here on.

He wanted to be a poet,' someone else put in while Maggie hugged Tim and patted his back. 'Said he'd only lacked the words to be one.

You don't find time to write. You make time. It's my job.

My apartment's only about a block away." "Isn't that handy." "Fate," he countered as he took a seat on the sofa and made himself at home. "Fantasic, isn't it?" "One day very soon, I'm going to tell you what you can do with that fate of yours.