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

Darynda Jones

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Darynda Jones
Age: 59
Author
Novelist
Writer
Friona
Texas
Stay
Parent
Stills
Remember
Wounded
Still
Threatened
Hard
Mad
Really
Naked
Men
Parents

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We stood there, the three of us, our jaws firmly planted on the floor. Aunt Lil recovered first. She nudged me with her elbow and said with a cackle of delight, I think you guys should make some more of those brownies, 'cause that boy looks hungry.
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Still, this whole grim reaper thing should have come with a manual. Or a diagram of some kind. A flowchart would have been nice.
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He was like chocolate-covered heroin, and I was an addict through and through.
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But, you're his son, I said, trying really hard to hate him. You're the son of Satan. Literally. And you are the stepdaughter of Denise Davidson. Wow. That was a bit harsh, but, Okay, point taken.
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Pretending to drink coffee was similar to faking an orgasm.
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Man, I want to be someone's forbidden fruit. Well, you are pretty fruity.
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Dead people I could handle. They were usually beyond hysteria. This was the people-left behind part. The hard part.
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You’re just using me for my body.” “You don’t have a body,” I’d remind him. “Throw that in my face.” “Technically, you don’t have a face either.
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Okay, I’ll put someone on it. But you know, the Albuquerque Police Department wasn’t really created to find things out for you.” “Really? That’s weird.
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He said you sparkle like a newborn galaxy and have more attitude than a rich kid with his daddy's Porsche.
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Maybe I needed sensitivity training. I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.
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What's your specialty? Oh, you know. Madness. Mayhem. Debauchery. And even with all that going for me, I can still make a mean mojito.
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Death comes to those who wait. And to those who don't. So either way.
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Cookie had taken her daughter amber to school then walked the thirty-something feet to work earlier. Our business was on the second floor of Calamity's, my dad's bar, which sat right in front of our apartment building. The short commute was nice and rarely invloved rabid raccoons.
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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.
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My plans often went awry. Much like my thoughts. Hold the phones. Maybe Saan had ADD, too. It would explain a lot.
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You take everything onto your shoulders like that guy who holds up the world, and you shouldn’t. You’re not nearly as muscular.
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An integral part of any best friend's job is to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
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I was white. Chalk had more color than I did. And quite possibly more personality.
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She shook her head then took off again, and I found myself struggling to keep up with her in my bunny slippers. With a sigh, I realized I was getting way too much exercise. I'd just have to counteract it later with cake.
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