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.

The to Cathal was battered and only one wagon wide, with swells of hard earth where mud had frozen during cold ad rainy seasons. Enna tripped often, and cursed each time she tripped, until Dasha said, "Enna, you might watch your language." Enna grimaced. "I was. You should hear my thoughts.

Truth is when your mind and your gut agree.

Your head will be fine,” said Miri. “It’s your neck you should worry about.

What? Don't British women know how to use their knees?

I was under the stars, like a fish is under water.

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.