Steal Me For Your Stories Quotes

He admired bears because everyone was afraid to disturb them while they slept and fish were so in love with bears that they jumper right into their mouths. He ate meat and never felt bad about it unless he saw how the animal was slaughtered or if the meat was not cooked properly but he thought thrice about killing bus. ~ Robb Todd

It's possible, and I stress possible, that such a moment may never come: you may not fall in love, you may not be able to or you may not wish to give your whole life to anyone, and, like me, you may turn forty-five one day and realize that you're no longer young and you have never found a choir of cupids with lyres or a bed of white roses leading to the altar. The only revenge left for you then will be to steal from life the pleasure of firm and passionate flesh - a pleasure that evaporates faster than good intentions and is the nearest thing to heaven you will find in this stinking world where everything decays, beginning with beauty and ending with memory. ~ Carlos Ruiz Zafon

Hands

If I could tell the world just one thing
It would be that we're all ok
And not to worry 'cause worry is wasteful
and useless in times like these
I won't be made useless
I won't be idled with despair
I'll gather myself around my faith
for light does the darkness most fear

My hands are small, I know,
but they're not yours, they are my own
but they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

Poverty stole your golden shoes
but it didn't steal your laughter
And heartache came to visit me
but i knew it wasn't ever after
We will fight, not out of spite
for someone must stand up for what's right
'cause where there's a man who has no voice
there ours shall go singing

My hands are small, I know,
but they're not yours, they are my own
but they're not yours, they are my own
and I am never broken

In the end only kindness matters
In the end only kindness matters

I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray
I will get down on my knees, and I will pray

My hands are small, I know,
but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my own
and I am never broken

My hands are small, i know,
but they're not yours they are my own
but they're not yours they are my ~ Jewel

No one can ever make you feel inferior without your permission, Tory. Don't give it to them. Realize that it's their own insecurities that make them attack you and others. They're so unhappy with themselves that the only way they can feel better is by making everyone as unhappy as they are. Don't let those people steal your day, baby. You hold your head high and know that you have the one thing they can never take away from you. (Theo)
What's that, Papa? (Tory)
My love. Your mother's love and the love of your family and true friends. Your own self-respect and sense of purpose. Look at me, Torimou, people laugh at me all the time and say that I'm chasing rainbows. They told George Lucas that he was a fool for making Star Wars – they used to even call it Lucas's Folly. Did he listen? No. And if he'd listened to them you wouldn't have had your favorite movie made and think of how many people would never have heard the phrase 'May the Force be With You.' (Theo) ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Your leading in the silence Living God of Love: Give me ears to hear your request beneath the demands of this moment. I wish to listen for your leading in the silence. Help me listen beyond the stories I spin about others and my own self. Your leading is clear in the silence: "Love one another because you are one in me." Amen. ~ Peter Traben Haas

Did my father talk to me? It's true, he didn't say a lot to me, but I knew what had to be done. No need for big speeches. He taught me the fundamentals of our religion: My son, Islam is simple: you are alone responsible for yourself before God, so if you are good, you will find goodness in the afterlife, and if you are bad, you'll find that instead. There's no mystery: everything depends on how you treat people, especially the weak, the poor, so Islam, that means you pray, you address the Creator and don't do evil around you, don't lie, don't steal, don't betray your wife or your country, don't kill- but do I really need to remind you of this? ~ Tahar Ben Jelloun

You really believe all that? About how there's only one end in sight for people like you?" Amity said, tipping her chin back toward the sky and pulling her hat partway down her face, so only her nose and mouth were visible. "Horseshit. You only think that because you've never seen different." Esther started to reply, but Amity held up a still-bloody finger. "Don't interrupt me, pup. You know I'm right. You're a woman and you love people who aren't men, is that right?"
Esther hesitated to make sure she wasn't interrupting. "That's right," she said, "but - "
"No but, it's just true," Amity said, proving that her rule about interruptions only ran in one direction. "And you've only ever read stories about people like you, right? You've never met one of your kind before now. Well, except for Beatriz," she added. "Ain't that so?"
"Yeah," Esther answered reluctantly. She sensed a trap coming, but she couldn't figure out how to step around it.
"All those stories you've read," Amity said softly, pulling her hat back off her eyes by a few degrees. "Who gave 'em to you? ~ Sarah Gailey

I wish I thought you were joking and making that up. Unfortunately, I know better. Gods you are your son's father. What did I do to deserve two of you?" Shaking her head she met Hermione's gaze. "Is it easier with human sons or males?"
"Not really. I never know what horrifies me more-the stories Ryn tells me, or the ones he withholds out of respect for my maternal sensibilities, or fear of what I'll do to him should I ever learn the true nature of his innate recklessness and brazen stupidity."
"For the record, its definitely the latter. ~ Sherrilyn Kenyon

Uncle," she said. "Let me explain what will happen the instant one of your men makes a move toward me. Let's say, for instance, one of your archers lets an arrow fly. You've not come to many of my practices, Uncle. You haven't seen me dodge arrows; but your archers have. If one or your archers releases an arrow, I'll drop to the floor. The arrow will doubtless hit one of your guards. The sword and the dagger of that guard will be in my hands before anyone in the room has time to realize what's happened. A fight will break out with the guards; but only seven or eight of them can surround me at once, Uncle, and seven or eight is nothing to me. As I kill the guards I'll take their daggers and begin throwing them into the hearts of your archers, who of course will have no sighting on me once the brawl with the guards has broken out. I'll get out of the room alive, Uncle, but most of the rest of you will be dead. Of course, this is only what will happen if I wait for one of your men to make a move. I could move first. I could attack a guard, steal his dagger, and hurl it into your chest this instant. ~ Kristin Cashore

Ya live your life like it's a coma
So won't you tell me why we'd wanna
With all the reasons you give it's
It's kinda hard to believe
But who am I to tell you that I've
Seen any reason why you should stay
Matbe we'd be better off
Without you anyway
You got a one way ticket
On your last chance ride
Gotta one way ticket
To your suicide
Gotta one way ticket
An there's no way out alive
An all this crass communication
That has left you in the cold
Isn't much for consolation
When you feel so weak and old
But is home is where the heart is
Then there's stories to be told
No you don't need a doctor
No one else can heal your soul

Got your mind in submission
Got your life on the line
But nobody pulled the trigger
They just stepped aside
They be down by the water
While you watch 'em waving goodbye
They be callin' in the morning
They be hangin' on the phone
They be waiting for an answer
When you know nobody's home
And when the bell's stopped ringing
It was nobody's fault but your own
There were always ample warnings
There were always subtle signs
And you would have seen it comin'
But we gave you too much time
And when you said
That no one's listening
Why'd your best friend drop a dime
Sometimes we get so tired of waiting
For a way to spend our time
An "It's so easy" to be ~ Guns N' Roses

Sometimes he comes to me in my dreams, and I wonder if ironically all our stories were written on his skin back there in Texas City in 1947. Or maybe that's just poetic illusion purchased by time. But even in the middle of an Indian summer's day, when the sugarcane is beaten with purple and gold light in the fields and the sun is both warm and cool on your skin at the same time, when I know that the earth is a fine place after all, I have to mourn just a moment for those people of years ago who lived lives they did not choose, who carried burdens that were not their own, whose invisible scars were as private as the scarlet beads of Sister Roberta's rosary wrapped across the back of her small hand, as bright as drops of blood ringed round the souls of little people. ~ James Lee Burke

I have been writing my whole life: stories and plays and sketches and scripts and poems and jokes. Most feel alive. And fluid. Breathing organisms made better by the people who come into contact with them. But this book has nearly killed me. Because, you see, a book? A book has a cover. They call it a jacket and that jacket keeps the inside warm so that the words stay permanent and everyone can read your genius thoughts over and over again for years to come. Once a book is published it can't be changed, which is a stressful proposition for this improviser who relies on her charm. I've been told that I am "better in the room" and "prettier in person." Both these things are not helpful when writing a book. I am looking forward to a lively book-on-tape session with the hope that Kathleen Turner agrees to play me when I talk about some of my darker periods. One can dream. ~ Amy Poehler

She sighed, wishing he had been the hero she was looking for, wishing that ambush had been as much of a surprise to him as it was to her.
"You still haven't tried to set the past behind us," he pointed out. "Why don't you go ahead and tell me what a sorry-assed son of a bitch loser I am, so we can start moving forward?"
She glanced at him.
"Come on," he said. "Let me have it. Full power."
"You're . . . such a jerk."
"What, are you kidding? Jerks cut you off when you're driving. They steal your parking space. They don't nearly get you killed. You can do better than that."
"You're a . . ." She couldn't say it.
"Start with bastard. I'm a bastard. Come on, Allie. The word's barely even offensive. Try it. Bastard."
"You . . ."
". . . stinking sack of shit." He laughed at the look on her face. "Yeah, you're so polite, but I know you want to say it."
"I . . ."
". . . hate you, you scum-sucking loser. Asshole. Dick-head. Multiple choice, Al. I'm making it even easier for you."
"I thought you might be special." She finally forced the words out. "I thought you were better than the others."
Silence.
Harry stared at the road, all laughter gone from his face. "Yeah, well. You were wrong, huh?"
She had been wrong. But he couldn't begin to guess how badly she wished she hadn't been. ~ Suzanne Brockmann

Your grandmother was not teaching me how to behave in class. She was teaching me how to ruthlessly interrogate the subject that elicited the most sympathy and rationalizing
myself. Here was the lesson: I was not innocent. My impulses were not filled with unfailing virtue. And feeling that I was human as anyone, this must be true for other humans. If I was not innocent, then they were not innocent. Could this mix of motivation also affect the stories they tell? The cities they built? The country they claimed as given to them by God? ~ Ta-Nehisi Coates

Genie: Okay, fine. So what are your three wishes?

Marco: Only three? In the stories I heard, the genies granted unlimited wishes.

Genie: Ah, not again. Well, let me clarify this for you. I only provide the "Limited to three wishes" plan, also called the "Classic package". There were certain gold and platinum plans offered in the past, which granted infinite wishes and where the genie practically stayed with the lamp-finder all their life. But those plans were discontinued around 2,300 years back. ~ Varun Sayal

Christopher, family for me was never blood. It was always the family I chose. But it turns out it's nice to have someone I'm related to in this world. Someone I can tell boring family stories to. Do you know about Will Herondale? Or James Herondale?"
"I don't think so," said Kit.
"Excellent. Hours of your time will be ruined," said Jace. ~ Cassandra Clare

Teacher: "If your daughter knew her spelling words as well as her Bible stories she'd get into Harvard." Me: "I'll settle for Heaven." ~ Mark Hart

Don't you think Rycca would like to hear about Hadding, the warrior Odin rescued from his enemies? Indeed, so would I for as I recall, the last time I asked about him, you told the story in great haste without the scantiest details." There was a gleam in her eyes that Rycca had come to understand meant she was up to something, but she had no idea what might lurk behind so seemingly innocent a suggestion.
Dragon grinned and looked at his brother, who leaned back in his chair and laughed. When Rycca appeared puzzled, Cymbra said, "I confess, when I noticed how attentive you are to Dragon's stories I was reminded of myself. At Wolf's and my wedding feast, I persuaded Dragon to tell a great many tales. He was the soul of patience."
"He was?" Wolf interjected. "I was the one with the patience. My dear brother knew perfectly well I was sitting there contemplating various possibilities for doing away with him and he enjoyed every moment of it."
"Now how could I have known that, brother?" Dragon challenged. "Just because the wine goblet you were holding was twisted into a very odd shape?"
"It was that or your neck, brother," Wolf replied pleasantly. He looked at Rycca reassuringly. "Don't worry, if I hadn't already forgiven him, that sword he gave me would force me to."
"It is a magnificent blade," Dragon agreed. "They both are. Every smithy in Christendom is trying to work out what the Moors are doing but..."
"It's got something to do with the temperatu ~ Josie Litton

I dream of a world where people from different backgrounds are praying and working for the flourishment of communities different from them, and I find my sustenance not only in these stories in scripture, but in stories of human existence also - the story of the Bosnian Muslim man who took to a Serbian couple with a new baby a liter of milk every day during that horrible struggle in the former Yugoslavia, because he said even if our tribes, our nations, are at war with each other, there is something deeply human about me wishing that your baby survives and is secure. ~ Eboo Patel

If it was that easy, your father would have told you himself. This-like any real truth-must be discovered on your own. Honestly, I have no idea what your father might have told you. I do know he felt you were too optimistic, too naïve, and Royce is … well … not. At our last meeting, I spoke to him of Royce. It was Danbury's idea-his last wish-that if I ever found his wayward son, I should introduce the two of you. I think he felt Royce could provide you with that last piece of the puzzle, the one thing he failed to give you. Consider it one last chicken test if you will, one whose lesson you might not see the virtue of just yet." The professor stroked his beard around the edges of his mouth. "I suspect you have regrets at how you left home. Guilt perhaps. This is your chance to ease that feeling. This is the door your father left open for you. Besides, you don't need to marry Royce-just accept this single assignment."

"What assignment?" Hadrian asked.

"I need for you to fetch me a book. It's a journal written by a former professor here at the university."

"He means he wants us to steal a book." Royce had picked up what looked to be a six-inch incisor from a bear and was rolling it between his hands.

"More like borrow without permission," Arcadius expl-ained.

"Can't you just ask, especially since you only want to borrow it?" Hadrian said.

"I'm afraid that won't be possible. First, it would be heretical to ~ Michael J. Sullivan

See, you're walking really fast now, you don't need it at all," she called after me. I stopped and turned around. I could feel my cheeks burning. The bus station was full of people. "Nobody would pretend to be a cripple! Nobody would use a stick they didn't need! You should be ashamed of yourself for thinking that I would. If I could walk without it I'd break it in half across your back and run off singing. You have no right to talk to me like that, to talk to anyone like that. Who made you queen of the world when I wasn't looking? Why do you imagine I would go out with a stick I don't need - to try to steal your sympathy? I don't want your sympathy, that's the last thing I want. I just want to mind my own business, which is what you should be doing. ~ Jo Walton

Gravity's Rainbow"

Come on with me through ruined liplock
Across Tangian deserts we'll flock
Madcap Medusa flank my foghorn
We'll change four seasons with our first born.

All ships of sense on hyper ocean
All kinds of chaos still in motion
My culture vulture such a dab hand
I'll steal you from the year 4000

Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
I'll always be there
Uh-oh my future love
I'll always be there
For you, my future love

Your tears leave trails of Tick fall blur room
Autonoma the room is bloom groom
Those crippled lines that I can't get to
You'd slip through time but I won't let you

Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
I'll always be there
Uh-oh my future love
I'll always be there
For you, my future love

Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
I'll always be there
Uh-oh my future love
I'll always be there
For you, my future love

Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
Come with me, come with me
We'll travel to infinity
I'll always be there
Uh-oh my future love
I'll always be there
For you, my future love< ~ The Klaxons

Why have you brought me here?" My voice shook. I couldn't stop staring at the Night Bazaar. There it was. And here I was. Standing on the same plot of land shared with beings that--until now--had only existed in stories. "What do you want from me?"
He stopped. The smile was gone from his lips.
"I want your perspective and honesty," he said, before adding in a softer voice, "I want to be humbled by you."
Heat flared in my cheeks. I paused, the stick in my hand falling a fraction. Perspective and honesty? Humbled by me? Rajas never asked for anything other than sons from their consorts.
"My kingdom needs a queen," he said. "It needs someone with fury in her heart and shadows in her smile. It needs someone restless and clever. It needs you."
"You know nothing about me."
"I know your soul. Everything else is an ornament."
His voice wrapped around me, lustrous and dark. It was the kind of voice that could soothe you to sleep in the same moment that it slit your throat. Still, I leaned toward it.
"Come with me," he said. "You would never be content in that world. They would cage you. They would give you playthings of silver and silk."
His teeth burned white when he smiled. "I could give you whole worlds. ~ Roshani Chokshi

According to my previous belief system, being a Christian and homosexual was not only incompatible; like heaven and hell, they were in absolute opposition. The constant conflict of being one person inside but presenting another on the outside for twenty-two years eventually took its toll.

The messages I got were loud and clear. Never ever admit to yourself or anyone who you are. Hide it, kill it, eradicate it, heal it, deliver it, break it, suppress it, deny it, marry it to a woman, heterosexualize it, therapy it, anything and everything, but whatever you do don't stand up one day and say "I am gay" because that will mean the end. I spent most of my life trying to destroy the real me, doing all I could to ensure he never found expression. A suicide of the soul, identity and meaning. When you finally embrace the gift of your sexual orientation it IS the end; the end of shame, fear and oppression. You leave the darkness of the closet and begin a life of honesty, authenticity and freedom. ~ Anthony Venn-Brown OAM

A fortune teller told me if I can predict your future, You give me some small change, to which I replied why, he said, for my knowledge about Your life, I did not need that, he replied as I yours Father's and Mother can call by name than You give me money, which I answered as you come to me as a soothsayer and do not know whether I will or do not pay then You walk down on the wrong path for Your future, and are You a cheater.

So please stop to tell stories about others when You not even know them in person or about their past for sure.
A story from another is many time not based on the true, so let that story rest before till You know its a honest one, and not let lead it a way so it damage somebody's private life.

This is not pointed to a person, but general in life.
keep smiling and a good day
Jan Jansen ~ Jan Jansen

The vast majority of you are going to close this tab without, even for a single moment, entertaining the thought of writing something.

Step outside your comfort zone and try something new. Learning the fine rationalist art of CoZE (comfort zone expansion) is a really important life skill, and putting your writing online is a low-risk way to do that. Don't try to cop out with "I don't have any stories." Baloney. Everyone has stories; write up a memory that's important to you. And don't even try to tell me, "Oh, but I don't know how to write!" Neither did I when I started; I learned by doing. So please, set the excuses aside, put something up on the web, and share it with the rest of us. When you do, drop me a PM; I'll leave you your first review, but you have to publish something first.

Well? What are you waiting for? Seriously. Go write one sentence of a new story, write now. ~ David K. Storrs

Give me a story that just makes me unreasonably vigilant. Keep me up till five only because all your stars are out, and for no other reason. ~ J.D. Salinger

Do you get it now,Becks?" Jack wrapped a finger around a long strand of my hair, and we were quiet as it slipped through his grip.
"You haven't moved on?"
He chuckled. "I have a lifetime of memories made up of chestnut wars and poker games and midnight excursions and Christmas Dances...It's all you. It's only ever been you.I love you." The last part seemed to escape his lips unintentionally, and afterward he closed his eyes and put his head in his hands,as if he had a sudden headache. "I've gotta not say that out loud."
The sight of how messed up he was made me want to wrap my arms around him and fold him into me and cushion him from everything that lay ahead.
Instead,I reached for his hand. Brought it to my lips. Kissed it.
He raised his head and winced. "You shouldn't do that," he said, even though he didn't pull his hand away.
"Why?"
"Because...it'll make everything worse...If you don't feel-"
His voice cut off as I kissed his hand again, pausing with his fingers at my lips. He let out a shaky sigh and his hair flopped forward. Then he looked at my lips for a long moment. "What if...?"
I bit my lower lip. "What?"
"What if we could be like this again?" He leaned in closer with a smile, and as he did,he said, "Are you going to steal my soul?"
"Um...it's not technically your soul that..."
I couldn't finish my sentence. His lips brushed mine, and I felt the whoosh of transferring emotions,but it wasn't as strong as th ~ Brodi Ashton

I know this sounds like quite a pile. I know, too, that some of you will wonder why I don't just buy a Kindle. I see your point, but the trouble is that to do so would be to forgo the pleasure of the moment when, years in the future, sand falls from the pages of an old book, and you suddenly remember the Isle of Wight and A Passage to India, a Greek island and The Map of Love, or whatever. For me, a ghostly trace of Ambre Solaire rising from the pages of a sun-bleached paperback is a way back to the past: to favourite stories as much as to favourite beaches. ~ Rachel Cooke

Let`s celebrate your sister tomorrow. Take me to all her favourite places. Where she hang out, where she went shopping, where she went out to eat. Let`s honor her for the day. I want to see photos. I want to hear stories. What do you think?
I stare back at her. "Why?"
"Because you loved her. And because you need to spread her legacy". ~ Katie Kacvinsky

Have you forgotten me?
by Nancy B. Brewer

The bricks I laid or the stitches I sewed.
I was the one that made the quilt; a drop of blood still shows from my needle prick.
Your wedding day in lace and satin, in a dress once worn by me.
I loaned your newborn baby my christening gown, a hint of lavender still preserved.

Do you know our cause, the battles we won and the battles we lost?
When our soldiers marched home did you shout hooray!
Or shed a tear for the fallen sons.

What of the fields we plowed, the cotton, the tobacco and the okra, too.
There was always room at my table for one more,
Fried chicken, apple pie, biscuits and sweet ice tea.

A time or two you may have heard our stories politely told.
Some of us are famous, recorded on the pages of history.
Still, most of us left this world without glory or acknowledgment.

We were the first to walk the streets you now call home,
Perhaps you have visited my grave and flowers left,
but did you hear me cry out to you?

Listen, my child, to the voices of your ancestors.
Take pride in our accomplishments; find your strength in our suffering.
For WE are not just voices in the wind, WE are a living part of YOU! ~ Nancy B. Brewer

Like many of the kids I write about, I once was a runaway myself - and a few (but not all) of the other writers in the series also come from troubled backgrounds. That early experience influences my fiction, no doubt, but I don't think it's necessary to come from such a background in order to write a good Bordertown tale. To me, "running away to Bordertown" is as much a metaphorical act as an actual one. These tales aren't just for kids who have literally run away from home, but also for every kid, every person, who "runs away" from a difficult or constrictive past to build a different kind of life in some new place. Some of us "run away" to college . . . or we "run away" to a distant city or state . . . or we "run away" from a safe, secure career path to follow our passions or artistic muse. We "run away" from places we don't belong, or from families we have never fit into. We "run away" to find ourselves, or to find others like ourselves, or to find a place where we finally truly belong. And that kind of "running away from home" - the everyday, metaphorical kind - can be just as hard, lonely, and disorienting as crossing the Nevernever to Bordertown . . . particularly when you're in your teens, or early twenties, and your resources (both inner and outer) are still limited. I want to tell stories for young people who are making that journey, or contemplating making that journey. Stories in which friendship, community, and art is the "magic" that lights the way.

(s ~ Terri Windling

My father used to tell me that stories offer the listener a chance to escape but, more importantly, he said, they provide people with a chance to maximize their minds. Suspend ordinary constraints, allow the imagination to be freed, and we are charged with the capability of heighetned thought.
Learn to use your eyes as if they are your ears, he said, and you become connected with the ancient heritage of man, a dream world for the waking mind. ~ Tahir Shah

Remarks on My Character
Waving a flag I retreat a long way beyond
any denial, all the way over the scorched earth,
and come into an arching grove of evasions,
onto those easy paths, one leading to another
and covered ever deeper with shade: I'll never
dare the sun again, that I can promise.
It is time to practice the shrug: "Don't count on
me." Or practice the question that drags its broken
wing over the ground and leads into the swamp
where vines trip anyone in a hurry, and a final
dark pool waits for you to stare at yourself
while shadows move closer over your shoulder.
That's my natural place; I can live where the blurred
faces peer back at me. I like the way
they blend, and no one is ever sure itself
or likely to settle in unless you scare off
the others. Afraid but so deep no one can follow,
I steal away there, holding my arms like a tree. ~ William Stafford

I'll give you one chance to run,
but may your shoulder always whisper in your ear…

"It's best to watch out for men, like me. ~ Ryan Goodrich

He watches me eat for a moment. "Let me see it again."

"No."

"Okay." He pulls a can of carbonated water out of his backpack and pops the lid.

Sometimes I want to punch him. I find the letter and slide it across the table.

He reads it again. It makes me feel all jittery inside.

His eyes flick up. "She likes you."

I shrug and steal his drink. It tastes like someone drowned an orange in a bottle of Perrier, and I cough.

Rev smiles. "You like her."

"How can you drink this crap?"

His smile widens. "Is it making you crazy that she won't reveal herself?"

"Seriously, Rev, do you have any regular water?"

He's no fool. "What do you want to do?"

I take a long breath and blow it out. I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know."

"You know."

"I want to stake out the grave. This waiting between letters is killing me."

"Suggest email."

"She doesn't want to tell me anything more than her age. She's not going to give me her email address."

"Maybe not her real email. But you could set up a private account and give her the address. See if she writes you."

It's so simple it's brilliant. I hate that I didn't think of it. "Rev, I could kiss you."

"Brush your teeth first." He reclaims his bizarre can of water. ~ Brigid Kemmerer

Do not become too pretty with yourself. And by that I mean, do not be afraid to get down in the dirt and tell stories that need to be told, using the appropriate language needed to convey the tale. Use the world around you, the people in it, the situations, the timeless problems and delimmas and yearnings. The further you get from this, with ornate and flowery language, with homogenized and predictable storytelling, the further away you push the audience. For the reason the reader has come to you, the writer, is to see themselves. In Romance, in Westerns, in Science Fiction, in Horror. They want to be able to put themselves in your story, to live it, see it, breathe it. Even if they are unfamiliar with the world you've created or are frightened by it, or it makes them uncomfortable, the reader wants the thrill of a rollercoaster ride. So give the audience its monies worth. I've said this before and I'll say it again. Tell me a good story and I will listen. ~ H.L. Sudler

I think that in general
well, at least it's true for me
you tend to put something of yourself into the story as a whole. Not necessarily in any character, you understand. But you've got your own way of looking at the world, and that naturally will affect how you craft a story. ~ Sam Lake

I wear makeup and I don dramatic attire because I like control. I'm not interested in controlling others but I'm invested in strict self-governance. This is why I don't do many face-to-face interviews. I don't like being caught off-guard. It all goes back to that attempt to create order amidst disorder. One of the most frightening things about losing your mind is that you feel like your body, your brain, every part of your essence is being invaded. There is such a palpable helplessness to that narrative and I hate the sense of victimhood that it implies. Certainly, this is how I felt during my moments of psychological disquiet. I felt like my personhood was under attack. Performativity is important to me because I'm the teller of my own stories. I have been performing these multiple roles for so long that they have bled into my identity. I have become the man that I always wanted to be. ~ Diriye Osman

What did I do to deserve you?"
"You told me not to throw away my work. You chased me down and made me open up. Enough to see things I needed to see." Xander stepped closer and put a hand carefully on Skylar's hip. "This is how I make love to you, Skylar Stone. I make you take off your clothes and spread your legs for me. I get you to tell me stories of goddesses and turn you into one. I turn your deepest fears into the most beautiful painting I know how to create, and then I stay up all night to give it to you." He rested his nose on Skylar's shoulder, nipping him smartly. "The very idea I need to slobber on a body part to do it is insulting."
Without turning around, Skylar found Xander's hand and laced their fingers tight. "What happens if I tell you that I love you?"
Xander shut his eyes, smiling into Skylar's skin as his heart soared. He squeezed their joined hands tighter. "I'll tell you that I love you back. ~ Heidi Cullinan