He Looked At Her Rather As A

The Lone Ranger Of Vampires. Did That Make Me Tonto?

The Weak Grey Light That Serves As Harbinger Of Red And Golden Dawn Faintly Lit My Window. I Fumbled For A Candle, Found And Lit It, And By Its Little Light Saw That The Rose Floating In The Bowl Was Dying. It Had Already Lost Most Of Its Petals, Which Floated On The Water Like Tiny, Un-seaworthy Boats, Deserted For Safer Craft. "dear God," I Said. "i Must Go Back At Once.

Cigars Should Be Like Onions," She Said, Unfastening The Catch And Pushing Back The Pane. "either The Whole Company Does, Or The Whole Company Does Not.

There Had Been Certain Romantic Interludes In The Past That Had Included Galloping Across The Desert At Night; But He Had Never Abducted Any Woman Whose Enthusiastic Support For Such A Plan Had Not Been Secured Well In Advance.

When You Write Your First Novel You Don't Really Know What You're Doing. There May Be Writers Out There Who Are Brilliant, Incisive And In Control From Their First 'once Upon A Time'. I'm Not One Of Them. Every Once Upon A Time For Me Is Another Experience Of White-water Rafting In A Leaky Inner Tube. And I Have This Theory That While The Story Council Has Its Faults, It Does Have Some Idea That If Books Are Going To Get Written, Authors Have To Be Able To Write Them.