Over a lifetime of dealing with difficult women, I have learned it is often better to give into their demands immediately.

Reluctantly, I pulled out my necklace and showed it to them. Samuel frowned. The little figure was stylized; I suppose he couldn't tell what it was at first. A dog?" asked Zee, staring at my necklace. A lamb," I said defensively, tucking it safely back under my shirt. "Because one of Christ's names is "The Lamb of God."" Samuel's shoulders shook slightly. "I can see it now, Mercy holding a roomful of vampire at bay with her glowing sheep." I gave his shoulder a hard push, aware of the heat climbing to my cheeks, but it didn't help. He sang in a soft taunting voice, "Mercy had a little lamb.

It was unsettling to be in love with someone who looked like the face in her nightmares.

That’s a pretty lame superhero name,” I told him. “Scooby-Doo is already taken,” he said with dignity. “Anything else sounds lame in comparison.

Mine, ... Mine is what she is.

It's easier to dismiss ghosts in the daylight.

During my last year of college I wrote the same ten pages over and over again. Those ten pages became the first few pages of my first novel. I can still recite the opening paragraph from memory - only now I cringe when I do it because they are - surprise! - a classic example of overwriting, in addition to being a more than a little pretentious.