Her young lover changed positions, grabbed her and pulled her rear up high . . . went inside her at a brand-new angle, stroked and grunted. . . . Like he wanted to crawl inside her.

Your lies are like a silent fart. Can't see 'em, but
I can smell 'em.

Some people are just so happy to get published to, they sign anything. Next thing you know, they've signed over the rights to their book.

I want those young whipper-snappers to know that in days past we actually used to kill trees and make those things called books.

For a lot of people, becoming an author is a change in occupation... they are coming from something that totally has nothing to do with this. If they are expecting to come into a room full of people praising them, then they are in the wrong place.

I'm just trying to write a good story, strictly from imagination. People just think it's random, they don't see the rewriting, phrasing of characters, choosing the words, bringing the world to light in which the characters live in. That creates an illusion that this is real.