Stop stealing the funeral meats right now, you wee scuggers!" She shouted. The Feegles stopped and stared at her. Then Rob Anybody said: "Socks wi'oot feets?

Lots of people would be as cowardly as me if they were brave enough.

I've lost both parents in the last two years, so you pick up on that stuff. That's the most terrible thing about being an author - standing there at your mother's funeral, but you don't switch the author off. So your own innermost thoughts are grist for the mill.

He moved on, in the centre of a widening circle. He wasn't an enemy, he was a nemesis.

Mr. Tulip lived his life on that thin line most people occupy just before they haul off and hit someone repeatedly with a wrench.

It was quite impossible to describe. Here is what it looked like. It looked like a piano sounds shortly after being dropped down a well. It tasted yellow, and it felt Paisley. It smelled like the total eclipse of the moon.

Let grammar, punctuation, and spelling into your life! Even the most energetic and wonderful mess has to be turned into sentences.