Do you have any idea how much an elephant drinks?

Then I lie down on the horse blanket and drift into a dream about Marlena that will probably cost me my soul.

I don't like outlining, because books are organic things. Sometimes a book doesn't want to be written in a certain way.

I scan the room. Catherine is writing quickly, her light brown hair falling over her face. She is left-handed, and because she writes in pencil her left arm is silver from wrist to elbow.

When I first submerged my feet into frigid water, they hurt so badly I yanked them out again. I persisted, dunking them for longer and longer periods, until the cold finally blistered.

You do right by me, I'll show you a life most suckers can't even dream of.

I hate this bizarre policy of protective exclusion, because it effectively writes me off the page.