How else could he go on, except with merciful incomprehension held before him like a shield? How could anyone?

I was being paid to do what I loved, and there's no gig on earth better than that; it's like a license to steal.

Outside, a gusty October breeze was combing leaves from the trees and sending them across her backyard in colorful skitters.

The road to hell is paved with adverbs.

We make up horrors to help us cope with the real ones.

Writing is a lonely job. Having someone who believes in you makes a lot if difference. They don't have to makes speeches. Just believing is usually enough.

As a rule, I don't worry about genre. I just want to tell a good story, with characters that interest me and my readers.