Don't call me 'gentleman'. I work for a livin'.

What happens to each of my female heroes, certainly, is they find something bigger than themselves that they are honored to serve. It's not giving up your family.

They had almost reached their horses when Neal's unmistakable drawl sounded through the stable: "Joren is so pretty. Say, Garvey, are you two friends because you can have him?

Gran, for the gods' love, it's talk like yours that starts riots!" I said keeping my voice down. "Will you just put a stopper in it?" She looked at me and sighed. "Girl, do you ever take a breath and wonder if folk don't put out bait for you? To see if you'll bite? You'll never get a man if you don't relax." My dear old Gran. It's a wonder her children aren't every one of them as mad as priests, if she mangles their wits as she mangles mine. "Granny, "I told her, "this is dead serious. I can't relax, no more than any Dog. I'm not shopping for a man. That's the last thing I need.

If you aren't having fun, if you aren't anxious to find out what happens next as you write, then not only will you run out of steam on the story, but you won't be able to entertain anyone else, either.

Well, laddie, if you've let an old buzzard like me hurt you confidence, you couldn't have had much in the first place.

No one expects a woman busy at her sewing to pay attention to what’s being said around her. Nevermind if a man’s mother and sister showerd them they heard everything while they stictched, he’ll still think a woman who plies her needles saves all her brains for the work. You’re a far better spy hemming sheets than if you clank with daggers.