In the summer of 80, Silhouette bought my first book.

I said, you're the beat of my heart, the breath in my body, the light in my soul.

What's your status?" she asked him. "Healthy, wealthy, and wise. What's yours?" "Ha. Mean, crafty, and rude.

The most important thing is you can't write what you wouldn't read for pleasure. It's a mistake to analyze the market thinking you can write whatever is hot. You can't say you're going to write romance when you don't even like it. You need to write what you would read if you expect anybody else to read it.

And you're not going to tell me she didn't make a move on you. At least test the waters." "The waters," he said, "were not receptive." "If they had been, I'd have drowned her in them already.

Have I missed a national holiday? There must be celebrations in the streets for you to be home at this hour of the day." "I'm calling it Summerset Goes Mute Day. The city's gone mad with joy.

I would hope that my writing's cleaner than it was when I started.