In some ways, I don’t feel as if I had a choice. Looking back at my childhood, even before I could read and write, I was making up stories. I love reading and I love telling stories, and the times in my life when I’ve tried to ignore that part of me, I’ve gone a little crazy. Characters start tugging on my sleeves, words start haunting me, and I feel generally unsatisfied. Really, being a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.

Figure out what is real for you. No use leaning on someone else's story all your life.

My friends call me by my name." "You don't have any friends." "I don't want you to be my friend, Selia, or my servant, not now. I thought you were both. You have let me know I was wrong. So are you to treat me so. You are wrong.

Does anyone smell roasting meat?' said Razo, 'Oh, wait, it's just Geric's face.

It was karma, it was kismet, it was magic. It doesn't matter how it happened, just that it did.

I'm sorry Finn. I'm a wooden-headed dummy.' Don't be so hard on yourself,' said Finn. 'You're just a straw-brained scarecrow.

Right now I'd like all my troubles to stand in front of me in a straight line, and one by one I'd give each a black eye.