After a long, labored sigh, I said, “She was really happy when I got there. I’m pretty sure she was suicidal when I left.”“You do have that effect on people.

Never knock on death's door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. - T-shirt

My fore-parts, as you so ineloquently put it, have names.”I pointed to my right breast. “This is Danger.” Then my left. “And this is Will Robinson. I would appreciate it if you addressed them accordingly.” After a long pause in which he took the time to blink several times, he asked, “You named your breasts?”I turned my back to him with a shrug. “I named my ovaries, too, but they don’t get out as much.

I may not look like much, but I'm an expert at pretending to be a ninja.

After a long pause in which he took the time to blink several times, he asked, "You named your breasts?"I turned my back to him with a shrug. "I named my ovaries, too, but they don't get out as much.

There is a great need for a sarcasm font.

I stood and walked around the desk so I could stand over him. Menacingly. Like Darth Vader, only with better lung capacity.

You know you have ADD when Look A chicken - T-shirt

I like to see the glass as half full, hopefully of jack daniels.

Insanity does NOT run in my family. It strolls through, takes its time, and gets to know everyone personally. —T-SHIRT

At first, I could lie about my lack of sleep and she'd fall for it, but she started suspecting insomnia when I began seeing purple elephants in the air vents at the office. I knew I shouldn't have asked her about them. I thought maybe she'd redecorated.

Want coffee?" I asked, as I headed that way."It's three thirty in the morning.""Okay. Want coffee?

I do not," I felt oddly appalled by her statement. "I'm an excellent liar. Ask my dentist. He swears I floss regularly.

Ambulances were cool. “You just want to fondle my extraneous body parts,” I said to the EMT as I picked up a silver gadget that looked disturbingly like an alien orifice probe, broke it, then promptly put it back, hoping it wouldn’t leave someone’s life hanging in the balance because the EMT couldn’t alien-probe his orifices.

You called me at four thirty-four....I hate four thirty-four. I think four thirty-four should be banned and replaced with something more reasonable, like, say, nine twelve.

Sorry. i just can't seem to help myself. My brain is freaking out. Two predawn mornings in a row. It doesn't know what to think, how to act. I'll have a talk with it later. Perhaps get it some counseling.

My powers of persuasion are only as strong as the bullshit I have to back it up.- Charley Davidson

In a moment of sheer terror, I realized I couldn't feel my brain. It was there just a minute ago. Maybe I really was dead. "Do I look dead to you?

God I loved Sammy. I’d considered marrying him, but his wife got upset when I asked for his hand.

His gaze slid over me like a veil of fire. He could ignite my deepest desires with a single glance. I decided right then and there no more reading romance novels by candelight.

You totally need to watch the news.""Can't.""Why?""It's too depressing.""Right, because hanging with dead people isn't.

I was never really certain why he scared the bejesus out of me. Nothing scared me growing up. I’ve been playing with dead people since the day I was born, so it’s good thing, yet the Big Bad scared me. Which brings me to the reason I called.” “Which was to give me nightmares for the rest of my life?” “Oh, no, that’s just a plus. Why was I so scared of him?” “Hon, for one thing he was this powerful, massive, black smokelike being.”“So, you’re saying I’m a racist?

Nobody wants to look like a fool. Nine times out of ten, thatreason alone keeps people from allowing themselves to believe.

When life hands you lemons say,"Lemons? What else have you got?"- bumper sticker

My goal in life is to have a psychiatric disorder named after me.

If it weren’t for physics and law enforcement, I’d be unstoppable.

Paperwork wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the paper. And the work.

He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that the predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought.

There are very few personal problems that can't be solved with a suitable application of high explosives.

For the first time in my life, I was in a shoot-out. A real, honest-to-goodness shoot-out with a bad guy. And, apparently, we both sucked.

Since I had a soft spot for zombies and my curiosity was killing me, I opted for plan Z.

Who knew Demon Child would have such a normal name? I expected something exotic like Serena or Destiny or the Evil One That Comes in the Night to Make Us Chilly.

LIKE THE SUICIDAL RACCOON, I, TOO, WILL FUCK UP YOUR ALIGNMENT IF YOU RUN ME OVER. - T-shirt

As we sat there, the door opened, just barely, and a hand slid inside and dropped a set of keys on a side table."Thanks, Garrett!" I called out.He gave me a thumbs-up and closed the door."How do you suppose he knew we were performing sexual favors on each other?" I asked, snuggling against my man again."Possibly because you screamed my name about seven times.

Have you slept yet?''Sure. I took a power nap on the way over.''Didn't you drive there?''Yeah. Other drviers kept waking me up. Car horns should be illegal.'- Charley & Cookie

I know what kind of man it takes to get involved with something as barbarous as human trafficking.”“I get it, Swopes. He’s not the kind of man you take home to meet yourstepmom.” I rethought that. “Wait a minute. Maybe my stepmom would like to meet him. Do you think he ships to Istanbul?

You hit me again," I said, growing oddly annoyed."Ya think?" Evil Riggs said. Smart-ass."Part of my brain hurts. I demand to know what that part of my brain is called and what its job is.

I’m currently unsupervised It frisks me out too but the possibilities are endless

Did you catch the time-of-great-suffering thing?”Her expression softened. “Can you just make sure I’m not around when it happens?”“No can do,” I said, strolling back to my office with a negating wave of my hand. “If I have to suffer, then so does everyone else within a ten-mile radius.”She pursed her lips. “What ever happened to taking one for the team?”“Was never much of a team player.”“Sacrificing yourself for the greater good?”“Not that into human sacrifice.”“Suffering in silence?”I stopped and turned back to her, my eyes narrowing accusingly. “If I have to suffer, I’ll be screaming your name at the top of my lungs the whole time. You’ll be able to hear me all the way to Jersey, mark my words.”- Charley to Cookie

Since I didn't have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started my performance. "Agent... Agent Carson," I said, panting into the phone."Yes, Charley." She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn't about to stop now."I--I know who the kshshshshshsh are.""I'm a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?""I'm sorry. My kshshsh... is kshshsh... ing."I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?"She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crakled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. "You aren't listeni--kshshsh.""You're really bad at this.""Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh.""Charley, if you don't cut this crap out."I hung up and turned off my phone before she could figure out what I was trying not to tell her and call back.

Gemma Davidson,” she answered, her voice as groggy as I felt. “Where are you?” I asked. “Who is this?” “Elvis.” “What time is it?” “Hammer time?” “Charley.” “Did you text me? Did your car break down?” “No and no. Why are you doing this to me?” She was funny. “Check your cell.” I heard a loud, sleepy sigh, some rustling of sheets, then, “It won’t come on.” “Not at all?” “No. What did you do to it?” “I ate it for breakfast. Check the battery compartment.” “Where the hell is that?” “Um, behind the battery door.” “Are you punking me?” I heard her fumbling with the phone. “Gem, if I was going to punk you, I wouldn't simply turn off your phone. I would pour honey in your hair while you slept. Or, you know, something like that.” “That was you?” she asked, appalled.

Does Uncle Bob have anything?""I heard he has an STD.""I mean on the women.""Oh, I have no idea if they have any STDs.

In the meantime, I had to get dressed and go to work, because going to work in my pajamas was apparently the definition of unprofessional. Cookie's words. I looked it up though. She was wrong. Webster's mentioned nothing about pajamas.

There's another part, an obstinate part, that wants more. That wants Dutch live and in the flesh. That wants her hand. Her mouth. Her hips under mine. It wants all of her. Every last ounce. Body and soul.

If he didn't hate me so much and he wasn't an evil supernatural being, I'd be on him like black on Cookie's toast.That woman could not make toast.

I thought you were mad at me.""I am.""Well, I make it a rule never to have sex with anyone who's mad at me."He arched a brow. "It's a wonder you've ever had sex at all.

Should I leave you two alone?" he asked, changing the subject."He's taken," I said, accepting the fact that forgiving himself was something Reyes didn't do. "Osh. By someone very special.""And who might that be?"This might be a little hard for him to swallow. Tact was definitely in order. Or I could just blurt it out and watch his expression go from content to disbelief to horror to a bristly, murderous kind of fury. I chose door number two. "He's destined to be with our daughter."Reyes's expression slowly changed from content to disbelief to horror to a bristly, murderous kind of fury. "Oh, hell, no." He shot to his feet. "A Daeva? Are you fucking kidding me?"Just like a dad."Yes, a Daeva. But I wouldn't dismiss him so offhandedly."He whirled around and scowled. Not really at me. Just in general. "What do you mean?"I pressed one corner of my mouth together in thought. "Okay, you know how I was the grim reaper all of my life, then suddenly I'm also this god from another dimension? And how you're the son of Satan all your life, then suddenly you're a god from this dimension? Who does that? Our lives are so weird. I think that maybe Osh is something else, too." I traced one of the dark lines on his face. "I think there's more than meets the eye. I see greatness in him, Reyes. I see a power beyond our imaginings. I see him giving his life for our daughter.""Oh." He sat back down, satisfied. "As long as he dies in the end.

Why do you suppose I’m here?” I asked him. Angel. A thirteen-year-old departed gangbanger. “Just ’cause you’re supposed to be, I guess.

The regular I both feared and salivated to see was names Reyes Farrow. Where others exuded aggression, deception, and insecurity, he literally dripped confidence, sex, and power. Mostly sex.

I sort of got off on making bad guys sweat. Which was not unlike my love of making good guys sweat, just by very different means.

He had threatened my parents. I had to remember that. Still, it was really hard to stay mad at a wounded naked man.

Men were weird. Especially men made of tempered steel and fire and perpetual darkness. Or men with penises. Either way

He turned the corner and flipped me off at the same time. See? Men could multitask. I was so proud of him.

That took balls.""Please," I said with a snort, "that took ovaries. Of which I have two.

Maybe I needed sensitivity training. I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.

If I couldn't be a good example, I'd just have to be a horrible warning.

Amber was busy flirting with a rookie named Dead Meat if he didn’t stop flirting back. She was eleven, for heaven’s sake! Of course, he may have just been humoring her. And it was a little cute. In a gross, Chester-the-molester kind of way.

You just seem so sad,” I said, dialing voice mail. “Like someone stole your favorite nine millimeter.”“I’m not sad.” He started down the hall, then turned back. “Least not when I look at you.”.

Gemma had blond hair and blue eyes. I did not.Gemma was always an A student. I was more of a B-all-you-can-be kind of gal.When Gemma was into science, I was into skipping.When Gemma was into foreign languages, I was into the hot Italian guy down the street.

And I like the light-up.”“The what?”“The light-up,” he’d say. “You know, that look people get when they finally realize you’re for real. It’s like electricity. It makes me tingle all over. Like a blanket full of static.”Ew. “Really? I’ve never heard that.”“Yeah, and I like it when people realize we’re out here.”I leaned in close once and asked him, “Do you want your mom to realize you’re out here? Do you want her to know?”“Nah. It took her too long to get over me.”All in all, he was a good kid.

The woman eyed Ubie a moment before grabbing a pen and writing down the dates I had. Ubie eyed her back. Sparks flew.

We’re going down to the Margarita Grill to smell the lobster, then we’re going to watch the sunrise, and in between we’ll probably have hot, unsafe animal sex.

I stop fighting my inner demons. We're on the same side now. T-shirt

After an initial rush of pleasure that left me trembling with need, I broke off the heated kiss and whispered, "Okay, you win."He leaned over me and said into my ear, "Dutch, I won the moment you crawled into bed."He really did need to work on his self-esteem.

Real writers write. Period. No, the muse does not come to visit everyday. She’s a lazy, precocious flirt. You cannot get into the habit of being “in the mood” to write. No writer on Earth is in the mood to write everyday, but the good ones do it anyway. They fight through their fatigue, their stress, their doubt, and they write. They get the words on the page. Period. So stop waiting for your muse. Trust me, she sleeps around.

A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory. —STEVEN WRIGHT

I am a huge believer in revelations and fun twists.

You rented the apartment with a dead guy in the corner?” I shrugged. “I wanted the apartment, and I figured I could cover him up with a bookcase or something.

Keep Reading.Keep Writing.Keep Pushing yourself!And never stop learning!We writerly types have to stick together mostly because everybody else thinks we're "weird".

You do have a tendency to severe spinal cords.""Only for you.

I still had my hand on his side, careful not to press. He reached out and hooked a finger into the belt loop on my jeans. It felt so natural, so fulfilling, to be there with him. To talk with him as if we did it everyday. As if we'd been doung it every day for years. Not even the heat of Ian's fury could penetrate the warmth I was getting from Reyes.

Amador and Bianca have a great life that I'm only a little jealous of. They have two kids they bring to see me. His daughter, Ashlee, is almost five now. She has asked me to marry her when I get out. It feels kind of weird since she calls me Uncle Reyes and incest is frowned upon, but who am I to argue with true love?

I essentially killed those men. Am I slated for hell?"He stepped to me. Put his fingers underneath my chin. Raised it until our gazes locked. "You're a god, Dutch. And the reaper. You don't get slated. You are the slate.

So, where are you from?" Agent Carson asked Reyes. "Originally?"I whirled around to face him again, this time pinning him with a warning glare. Carson was an FBI agent, but I was all about stealth. Surely she wouldn't pick up on my silent threat.He studied my mouth, not the least bit worried about my warning glare, then said at last, "Here and t

You still owe me a million dollars." I'd presented him with a bill for proving his innocence and getting him freed from prison. He had yet to pay. Couldn't imagine why."Yeah, I was hoping we could work that out.""The interest alone is going to kill you.""What do you charge?""Three hundred eighty-seven percent.""Is that ethical?""It's as ethical as my dating the son of Satan.

A lot of people are alive because I shed too much hair to get away with murder.

How old are you, anyway?""How old are you?""Seventeen."I raise a brow."Almost. I'll be seventeen in two weeks. You?"Part of me doesn't want to tell her. She'll be horrified. But part of me wants to know what she will do when she knows the truth. "How old do you think I am?"She lifts a slender shoulder. "At first I thought maybe eighteen, but now I'm thinking at least nineteen. Maybe even twenty?""why's that?""You seem very ... experienced."I nod. "You're close. Today's my birthday. I'm thirteen.

The point is, stories can be all lengths. Never underestimate the power of “less is more.

Never wait for your muse. Train him/her to show up to work when you do by pushing on. It's a dominant submission thing.

Writing is transcendental. It is a form of expression, a form of art that you can take anywhere. That you can do anywhere. It poses the deepest questions in the universe. It generates emotion. It elicits empathy, promotes learning, creates an intellect you simply cannot get from any other medium. For me, it is air.

Writing doesn’t get any easier with time or talent. If writing is easy for you, you’re probably still learning the craft. You haven’t perfected your style or landed upon your “voice.” You haven’t learned to analyze your writing with a critical eye, to rip it apart and figure out why it isn’t doing exactly what you want.

You know?” he asked.“Yes. I know what I am.”“You – you do?”“I’m a time traveler.

I am apparently the complete opposite of a sociopath. (Seriously. I took a test.) WHEW! ‪#‎dodgedabullet‬

Developing your voice takes... time and practice.

There is a difference between fresh and weird. You never want to throw your reader out of the story. Keep it fresh but natural.

Humor is so subjective, not everyone is going to get what you are peddling. Others will be offended when what you meant no offense whatsoever. Those are the stakes. You have to be able to stand up for yourself and what you’ve written. Comedy pushes limits, makes people uncomfortable, and is a natural reaction to the environment. Otherwise, as I said, it is forced. Let it flow and give your characters permission to cross a line or two, but only if you can take the heat afterward.

I cannot tell you how important fresh, crisp writing is for an aspiring writer. Plot is great. The overall concept is super important. But the writing is what sells your work. It all boils down to the words you choose and the order in which you arrange them.

And as your writing evolves, what you need and get from it evolves.

In that one, they'd done their darnedest to destroy Riley's Switch. This time, instead of two-by-fours and tire irons, they seemed a little more focused on choke holds and knees to the face. Their desire to be close to each other was sweet.

We all have a certain knowledge about how the universe works. And when someone comes along and challenges that knowledge, we don’t know how to deal with it. We aren’t hardwired that way. It’s difficult to question everything you’ve ever thought to be true. So, like I said, it’s not your fault. You can believe me or not, but whichever you choose, you’re the one who has to deal with the consequences. So make your decision wisely, grasshopper,

Does he ever eat cotton candy for breakfast?"He stepped around the counter to face us, lowered his gaze, and took a sip from the black mug in his hands."No," I said. "He's very much like the Big Bad Wolf. He eats little girls for breakfast."He spoke from behind the cup, his voice deep and as smooth as butterscotch. "She's wrong. I eat big girls for breakfast.

Read. Write. Read some more. Explore the universe through your writing. Practice and learn what moves you and what doesn't.

WHILE writing, just try to have fun with your ms. Enjoy the process, but push on. Always push toward the finish line!

Any time a beloved character is killed off, it affects the audience in a very powerful way, especially in a series.

I've been rejected a hundred times. It just takes that one person who totally believes in you!

I think the first draft is so challenging because that elusive BALANCE is so challenging.

Fresh writing and an original twist on an old idea. As much as this term is hated in the industry, it doesn't make it any less true. High concept. Simply put, you take a universal concept, something that has been done a million times (because everything has been done a million times), and add a fresh twist to it. Something no one saw coming. But mostly fresh writing! Keep it clean, simple, and compelling.

Screw the beaten path! Do your thing. Write the best story you can. the rest will fall into place.

I made a decision long ago not to make any apologies. Romance rocks, and even though my books don't actually fall into the romance genre, I tout them as very much being about the romance. It's fun. We're all obsessed with it. And it's human nature. Remember, NO APOLOGIES! Write what 's in your heart!

You take a universal concept, something that has been done a million times (because everything has been done a million times), and add a fresh twist to it. Something no one saw coming. But mostly fresh writing! Keep it clean, simple, and compelling.

ALWAYS hook a reader. If a detail is unnecessary, it doesn't belong in your work, long or short! Make everything intriguing. If you have to describe a desk, make it awesome.

I learn from everything I do, right and wrong. I think it helps me grow as a writer and a person.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A finished manuscript is AWESOME! So go, go, go! *waves pompoms*

Don't let writers block push you around. Figure out what the problem is,whether it's with the ms or it's in your personal life, and face it head on. Don't stop writing. Just try really hard to work through it.

We don’t read to observe the character from a distance. We read to become the character and experience the conflicts and rewards they are experiencing.

While the goal of a book is to create a positive emotional experience for the reader, the goal of the opening is to set the stage, to pull the reader in.

Step back and scrutinize your work, to delve deep into the meaning behind the words, it will get both easier in some ways and harder in others. Either way, you need to practice everyday. You will probably get faster with time, because you learn to do this instinctively, and the writing may flow better on some days more than others, but it doesn’t get easier. And if you aren’t writing everyday, you are doing yourself and your craft a disservice. Writing is a habit. Get into the habit.

If you can master the opening, you will be leaps and bounds ahead of the competition.

The key to high concept is that fresh twist. Make it a big one. Wow your reader. Force her to gasp when she comes to that part in your story.

Thrilled that Reyes and I were outside, and taking that as her cue to get her freak on, Artemis ran around like a gerbil on meth, turning occasionally to make sure we were still watching. And God help us if we weren't.

He was leaving my stepmother for a sailboat. Not that I blamed him. A sailboat would at least be useful.

Can I brush your hair?” she asked as she led the way, her disposition doing a 180 on a dime. Kids. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t eat ’em for lunch.

I could’ve knocked the shit out of her .She’d have good reason to roll her eyes then. But knocking the shit out of rude people wasn’t my style. Heckling them every chance I got was. Hopefully she’d screw up soon. I didn’t have all day.

But have you ever seen one?....They shook their heads. "Not Physically, no. But if you look at this passage - "Man, she liked that Bible. I'd read it and could definitely understand it's appeal, but I didn't have time for this.

I also become the local computer nerd. The administration brings me in to fix all the computers, I create viruses to invade at a specific day and time. They call me in, and I eradicate my own virus, only to plant another one to go into effect a couple months later. They ask me why I can't just fix the computers once and for all. I tell them to quit going to porn sites and it will stay fixed. That shuts them up every time.

Doing nothing is hard. You never know when you’re done. —T-SHIRT

Bye-bye. Nice knowing you. But if you are waiting for that perfect idea to strike like lightning during a dust storm (I live in New Mexico), you could be waiting a long time. Ideas are everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I can’t walk to the bathroom without being hit with another idea. It’s what you DO with that idea that matters. Here is your mantra: BICHOK, BICHOK, BICHOKTranslation: Butt in chair, hands on keys. Just write. Every stinking day.

No writing is effortless. I’m not saying you can’t have a good day where the words just kind of flow, but even those words have to be edited. Probably more than once. And I’m not saying a character hasn’t somehow gone in a different direction that I wanted her to go, but that was me, not her. I let her get away from me. I let her roam free and nine times out of ten, the result is not good. I have to go back and start over because she veered off the path of my book. She changed the vision. And I did that. Not her.