I’m one of the lucky writers: plots come easily to me.
I wrote eight full-length adult novels in my twenties. None of them were published.
What more can life hold, than to know that because of your story, somebody out there has decided to read again!
I love writing and do not know why it is considered such a difficult, agonizing profession. I love all of it, thinking up the plots, getting to know the kids in the story, their parents, backyards, pizza toppings.
Guys with nice person names try to be sympathetic.
When in doubt, shut up.
Breakfast was only worth having when somebody else made it for you.
Lying on the front passenger seat, as if it didn’t matter, was Rose’s Diary. It Mattered.
She had gradually changed her name. “Jane” was too dull. Last year, she’d added a “y”, becoming Jayne, which had more personality.
But I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found the way home.
Stephen had just come from a class discussion in which several students believed that the right cup of herbal tea would save them from pain and sorrow. Well acquainted with pain and sorrow, Stephen did not contribute to the discussion. He merely crossed these idiots off his list of possible friends.
But sometimes, in tight corners, when your back is against the wall and the world is against you, you have to fight back in unexpected ways.
I love writing and do not know why it is considered such a difficult, agonizing profession.
Listen to the sea... it sounds like a coffin being dragged over broken glass.
The sea can smack the rocks like a hand smacking a cheek. It can hiss or gurgle or even kiss. But when it wants, it can go quiet. ‘And then’, said Anya Rothrock, ‘you can hear the voices of the drowned’.
Bianca and Mindy crept into the room like great big fashionable mice.
How terrifying empty beds were. The neatness of the sheets and blankets was like the neatness of a mowed and trimmed graveyard.
I guess even really annoying people can be right sometimes.
Her laughter began low and quiet then rose in pitch and flickered all over the room, like blood splatter.
Sometimes Reeve couldn’t stand women. They were so practical.
You had to assume that his body would grow to match, in which case Stephen would become a man of splendid proportions.