But, how do you know if an ending is truly good for the characters unless you've traveled with them through every page?
Writing a first draft and reminding myself that I'm simply shoveling sand into a box so that later I can build castles.
I think the only way to get through this life is laughing hard and constantly, mostly at myself.
The rewrites are a struggle right now. Sometimes I wish writing a book could just be easy for me at last. But when I think about it practically, I am glad it's a struggle. I am (as usual) attempting to write a book that's too hard for me. I'm telling a story I'm not smart enough to tell. The risk of failure is huge. But I prefer it this way. I'm forced to learn, forced to smarten myself up, forced to wrestle. And if it works, then I'll have written something that is better than I am.
Many times I have learned that, you never judge a book by its cover. Like people, it is the inside that counts.
...all things speak, in their way, don't they?
... If we don't tell strange stories, when something strange happens we won't believe it.
Even the jerks earn some of our affection. We can be glad they're gone and yet still mourn the good parts.
Look no farther than your hand, Make a choice and take a stand.
Words can fall hard like a boulder loosed from a cliff. Words can drift unnoticed like a weed seed on a breeze. Words can sing.
Ani told them all...telling more than needed telling, the stories clarifying and unifying themselves in her mind as she let them spill out of her mouth.
... until Miri could not help it any longer and she laughed out loud. The sound broke the game. Peder looked at her. He reached out, and she thought he meant to grab her straw or perhaps yank her hair as he used to when they were little. But her put his hand behind her head and, leaning forward, pulled her face to his. He kissed her. One long, slow kiss.
It doesn't seem to matter what we think...The prince will come up here and look at us as if we're barrels in a trader's wagon. And if I'm salt pork and he doesn't care for salt pork, then there's nothing I can do.
Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.
You are my butterfly and refuse to set you free.
Life is short, so live extra lives. Read books.
I do like the world quite a lot.
You, what are you? The brat of lucky parents who were related to a childless king. There is no such thing as royal blood. I believe we are what we make ourselves, and as such, you, Crown Princess, are nothing.
The book smelled dusty and old but also carried a sweet tang, a hint of something inviting. She opened to the first page and started to read, pronouncing the words in a reverent whisper.
I, Geric-Sinath of Gerhard, declare that you're beautiful and you're perfect and I'll slay any man who tries to take you from my side. Goose girl, may I kiss you?
Being a writer is a good, good thing.
My ma says a rock lasts forever, but people don’t, and that’s what makes them more precious.
I keep thinking about a tale my nurse used to read to me about a bird whose wings are pinned to the ground. In the end, when he finally frees himself, he flies so high he becomes a star. My nurse said the story was about how we all have something that keeps us down.
A little snark, properly directed, can change the world.
All I've ever wanted was to be near you.
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