That was another lesson I had learned perhaps too well: people meant pain.

My bad luck got tangled up with my bad decisions, and I'm paying for it.

You want to publish with a publisher because a publisher knows how to publish a book. And you don't. You really don't.

Over the last month I had pulled a woman from a blazing inferno. I had called fire and lighting down on assassins and escaped to safety. I had even killed something that could have been either a dragon or a demon, depending on your point of view. But there in that room was the first time I actually felt like any sort of hero. If you are looking for a reason for the man I would eventually become, if you are looking for a beginning, look there.

Using words to talk of words is like using a pencil to draw a picture of itself, on itself. Impossible. Confusing. Frustrating ... but there are other ways to understanding.

It gets tiresome being spoken to as if you are a child, even if you happen to be one.

I learned to love the feel of good words.