Chris Wooding Famous Quotes
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I'm a graphic-novel guy. I can't handle the wait for monthly or bi-monthly comics; I need the story finished so I can buy the whole thing.
At least on the Ketty Jay he was surrounded by people who asked no questions, people untrained in the aristocratic arts of vicious wit and backstabbing. He rather liked that about them, actually.
Not bad for a bunch of reprobates with a galaxy of personality disorders.
There was a big horror boom in the '80s, and I liked its originality and what you could get away with.
Mad she may be, or possessed; or maybe only scared out of her wits.
Then a person has only one tale?"
No, some have two or three separate ones or more," Fleet said. "Some people have many tales. Sometimes they are linked into one big tale, sometimes they are utterly distinct. Most people do not have one at all.
I hate SF books that think all you need to make a book is cool technology and mind-bending ideas without a decent plot or characters. And I hate when fantasy books are allowed to ramble off into five hundred page diatribes which don't advance the story one bit.
Suddenly it was if she was merely a brain, being transported inside the skull of some hideous fleshy machine, a piece of living cargo in someone else's body.
You alright?' Frey asked him. Crake gave him an accusing glare. 'I thought I'd given up all dignity long ago when I joined this crew,' he said. 'But this? This is a new low, Frey.'
'It's character-building,' said Frey.
The torturer was wheeling around the room, shrieking, holding his impaled hand, which had a pen sticking out of it. The guard by the door was in paroxysms of laughter. Frey had crumpled the confession into a ball and was trying to get it into his mouth to eat it, but couldn't quote reach.
Don't confuse contentment with happiness...
Pinn just won a medal for intelligence,' Frey said, shaking his head as he clapped. 'I don't want to live on this planet any more.
They were happy, and free, and the endless sky awaited them. It was enough.
Was it possible that he liked the world the way it was?
Steampunk has been hovering around for a long while, and it's never really caught on in a big way.
He let the smoke drift around the inside of his mouth, trying to relax, but nothing could so easily dispel the unquiet that he felt.
But time has a way of stealthily deciding a person's mind without her conscious knowledge, and as she studied and procrastinated, Poison found one day that she had come to know her choice.
I wanted to write an adventure in the old-fashioned way, something to which I could apply the adjective 'rollicking' and not feel embarrassed. But I've never liked my heroes to be too heroic, so they ended up being a bunch of criminals instead.
They would erect great temples, and cities built of bone and sinew, and their foulness would spread like a cancer until finally, a hundred years from now, Mother Earth would be theirs.
Nothing's bigger than me!" Frey shouted back. "Me is all I've got.
Trudging off into a swamp in the middle of the night had seemed like a god idea at the time but, like most of Frey's ideas, the reality fell short of the concept.
She was quite maniac when I met her. I scared her, maybe.
'Malice' wasn't about horror to start with but an underground comic driven by the power of rumour. However, as nothing fuels a rumour like fear, I decided that it had to be a frightening comic.
Cynicism was a one-way path, and once taken the way back was lost forever.
If there was one thing worse than being cheated, it was being cheated by someone who referred to themselves in the third person.
I like writing comic pages, discovering the rhythm of the panels, learning how much you can and can't express. It's good to stretch myself as a writer instead of always doing prose work; I write screenplays for the same reason.
Poison." he said, deadpan. "That's an unusual name to give your child. You must love her very much."
She's a treasure." Bram agreed, blithely ignoing the sarcasm.
...
Then went a few dozen feet in silence, until they were out of eaarshor of the gaurd.
She's a treasure." Poison mimicked, and Bram burst out laughing.
You leave a rumor long enough, give it the right soil, and it'll grow into a fact ...
Well, wherever you go, whatever you do, you're still you. You can change your surroundings, start a new life, but you'll always fall into the same old patterns, make the same kind of friends, commit the same mistakes. The thing you need to change is yourself.
I'd love to see the Iron Jackal's face when he finds out I'm already dead," he said with half a grin. "Now that's irony." "No it ain't, Cap'n. It's just some shit that happened.
She was spared the slow, steady droplets of blood that began to spatter the beds, drip, drip, drip, painting the white sheets in shocked flowers of red
Our heroes have arrived, then," the stranger said, his voice a soft, bubbly murmur.
"Excuse me?" Poison queries.
The odd creature put down his rod in a little wooden cradle that rested next to him and got up from the edge of the jetty. He looked them over with his vast, yellowish eyes.
"Hmm," he said gloomily. "You don't seem a bad bunch." He jostled past them and began to shuffle back towards his house. "At least you're not the typical muscle-bound warrior, beautiful sorceress, and amusing thief sidekick. By the waters, did that become stale fast.
They believe all connections are temporary, so to cling to them makes no sense. When someone is gone, they're gone. Live for now; the present is all there is. You can't know what will happen next, so why worry? Consequences are natural and.inevitable. just do what you feel you must.
This was London, and you either held on, or fell by the walkside like that fellow had.
Everything you write makes you better. But if you really need a tip, here's one: a good story begins in opposition to its ending. That means you work out how it finishes first, and then begin the story as far away from that point - in terms of character development - as you can.
Some of us are born in the right place, and some of us have to go look for it.
The two of them together in a place like Retribution Falls would result in alcoholic carnage, sure as bird shit on statues.
We relate comics to the main super-heroes, but it's a great medium through which all sorts of stories are told.
Things just seem so much better in theory than in practice.
Malvery snapped his fingers at Pinn. 'Come here. I need that sling.'
'It´s my sling!' Pinn whined.
'You´re wearing a sling ´cause you shot yourself like an idiot. She just saved Silo´s life. See the difference?´
'No,´Pinn said stubbornly, but he let Malvery undo the sling anyway.
We may seem the weakest and most insignificant of all the Realms, but our strength comes in other ways. We have what no other race has: imagination. Any one of us, even the lowliest, can create worlds within ourselves; we can people them with the most extraordinary creatures, the most amazing inventions, the most incredible things. We can live in those worlds ourselves, if we choose; and in our own worlds, we can be as we want to be. Imagination is as close as we will ever be to godhead, Poison, for in imagination, we can create wonders.