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You were designed to be very smart, Max, she told me. We electrically stimulated your synaptic nerve endings while your brain was developing. And yet I still can't program my DVD player, I said.

James Patterson

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James Patterson
Age: 77
Born: 1947
Born: March 22
Actor
Advertising Person
Author
Film Producer
Novelist
Philanthropist
Screenwriter
Television Producer
Newburgh
New York
James Brendan Patterson
James B. Patterson
Brain
Nerves
Stills
Designed
Still
Developing
Synaptic
Directors
Electrically
Program
Stimulated
Smart
Max
Player
Endings
Told
Nerve

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Yes!” said Fang, punching the air. “Freaks rule.
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If you want to write for yourself, get a diary. If you want to write for your friends, get a blog. If you want to write for others...become an author.
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I was breathless, talking as fast as I could. I was afraid if I stopped talking, even for a second, I’d start sobbing again. “Whoa, there.” Fang smiled and reached up, tracing a hand down the side of my face, winding strands of my hair around his fingers. “Stop talking and let me just tell you how great it is to wake up staring at your face. Okay?
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When you go out to Hollywood, it's like, Here's the book. It is what it is. It'll always stay the same.
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My choices were to either give in and let them kill all of us or fight back with everything I had. I chose the second one, ’cause I’m just funny that way.
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Six Seconds should be Rick Mofina's breakout thriller. It moves like a tornado.
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Then I went to bed and cried into my pillow. I wasn't sad, not at all. It was just so beautiful to have an intense feeling and the right words at the same time. What are we but our stories?
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You know, I guess I just don't like to talk a lot about sad things. Now you know my flaw. What good does it do to talk about sad things in the past?
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Jane-Sweetie, we've talked about your weight- my mother began. I'm only eight years old, I said. How about I promise to be anorexic later?
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I'll just ask now: What is it about my persona that draws every insane, power-hungry nutcase to me like a magnet?
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I'm gonna barf, I whispered to Fang,wiping my sweaty hands on my jeans. You'll be fine, he whipered back. You always are. I'm gonna die, I moaned. You can't die, he said a hint of a smile in his voice.You're the indesructible Max.
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She didn't flirt with him, but they hung out together a lot, and every time I saw their heads bent over a computer screen or map, it made my stomach clench. And my teeth. And my fists.
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Plus her mom was so awesome. She was strict about some things—don’t leave your socks lying around—but so not strict about other things, like calling the cops about my bullet wound.
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De tall, dark vun--dere's nothing special about him at all, ter Borcht said dismissively of Fang, who hadn't moved since the doctor had come in. Well, he's a snappy dresser, I offered. One side of Fang's mouth quirked.
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We try not to encourage demonstrations of his mastery of the gaseous arts.
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They call me, The Sharkalator
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Steve turned to us again, looking so dang enthusastic that I wondered how much coffee he'd had this morning. So, you kids want to be big stars, eh? God, no! I said spewing crumbs. No way! Oddly, this seemed to throw a petite wrench into the convo.
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Actually, I'd already briefed him, early this morning. Since we were up at six. Since, at six, the nurse had been overcome with the overwhelming compulsion to take Fang's temperature right then.
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Hello, Max, he said quietly, searching my face. How do you feel? Which was a ten on the 'imbecilic question' scale of one to ten. Why, I feel fine, Jeb, I said brightly. How about you? Any nausea? Headache? Yep. And it's standing here talking to me.
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