I love having written. Sometimes I love writing. I love to revise. Revising is my favorite part of writing.
May the sun smile sweetly. May the rain fall softly. May a breeze ruffle your hair. May your host receive you with charm. May your rest be calm. May you be glad wherever you are.
Ogres weren’t dangerous only because of their size and their cruelty. They knew your secrets just by looking at you, and they used their knowledge.
By the way, you are a month older than the last time I saw you. Are you still too young to marry?
Good hearts weighed nothing with the queen.
But my fairy godmother said Lucinda was the only one who could remove it. However, she also said it might be broken someday without Lucinda’s help.
I made my way to one of the giant pillows that lined the walls of the dining hall – couches for humans, elves, and gnomes. I would watch the crowd while I dined. The silverware was too big. I looked around to see how others were managing. Some struggled with knives and forks the size of axes and shovels, some stared at their meal in perplexity. And some dug in with bare hands.
Char was too precious to hurt, too precious to lose, too precious to betray, too precious to marry, too precious to kill, too precious to obey.
I’d be unnatural if I weren’t enraged. And unnatural if I didn’t act on my rage.” “Perhaps you couldn’t help being angry.” the earl answered, “but you could certainly stop yourself from repaying one offense with another.
Danger, a quest, three figures. They are close to you, but they are not your friends.” She let my hand go. “Beware of them!
The road was little trafficked, and I was too happy about my escape to feel much fear. I was free of orders.
Instead of making me docile, Lucinda’s curse made a rebel of me.
Albin stood to the side a few feet and blew his nose with a honk. He could blow his nose a dozen ways. A honk was the saddest.
Who judges the judge who judges wrong? The sentence too weak, The sentence too strong. The penance too quick, The penance too long. Who judges the judge who judges wrong?
My thoughts went to Mother, who probably wasn’t sleeping, either. On nights when we were both troubled – usually about money – we’d each go to the kitchen and find the other there. I’d brew my auntwort tea, which had calming effects, and Mother would build up the fire if the night was chilly. Then we’d sit by the fireplace with quilts over our knees and play guessing games until our yawns came quicker than our ideas.
Except for the hydra in her swamp and the baby dragon, the exotics – the unicorn, the herd of centaurs, and the gryphon family – lived on an island meadow surrounded by an extension of the castle moat.
Hard farewell, With no greeting to come. Sad farewell, When love is torn away. Long farewell, Till Death dies. “But the lost one is with you. Her tenderness strengthens you, Her gaiety uplifts you, Her honor purifies you. More than memory, The lost one is found.
I cried, steady tears, like rain. And, like rain, they brought ease.
My grandmother warned that too much reading would ruin my eyesight, but I couldn’t hear her over the chatter of characters.
Decisions were a delight after the curse. I loved having the power to say yes or no, and refusing anything was a special pleasure.
We kissed and were wed.