You forgot to cough!” he said. “Sorry.” She coughed. “Your sneakiness is dangerous. Next time that chisel will lodge itself in my head.” “Now, Peder, there’s plenty of stone around here for carving. No need to practice on your own face.” He stroked his chin. “You’re right, my jaw is already chiseled to perfection.” She agreed, but she felt too silly to say so aloud.

Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.

I'm Razo, a member of Bayern's Own," he said, stopping himself from adding "Loafing is just a hobby of mine." "Bayern's Own? But you're a child." Razo looked up to the sky. "I'm not a child, I'm just short.

But, how do you know if an ending is truly good for the characters unless you've traveled with them through every page?

Oh land of farms and green hills mild Once formed by giants rough and wild With massive paws they gripped and tore With one great rip they formed the shore Where heavy boots left prints so deep Blue lakes remain 'tween summits steep The giants fought beneath our skies And from their bones our mountains rise

She's as fetching as brown hair done up with ribbons blue The mountain, my lady She's as sweet as pink flowers made bright with morning dew, Mount Eskel, my lady

I cannot write to anyone outside myself--if I tried, it would be a horrible story, flat and lifeless. I write to myself. That's the only person I'm trying to please.