Quote

There was a loud cough from the man on the stand. I replaced My Magic Mirror carefully on his tray, gave him a cheesy smile, and went my way.

Jonathan Stroud

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Jonathan Stroud
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: October 27
Novelist
Writer
Jonathan Anthony Stroud
Smile
Trays
Gave
Cough
Magic
Cheesy
Stand
Replaced
Went
Carefully
Way
Mirror
Men
Loud
Mirrors
Tray

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Jabor finally appeared at the top of the stairs, sparks of flame radiating from his body and igniting the fabric of the house around him. He caught sight of the boy, reached out his hand and stepped forward. And banged his head nicely on the low-slung attic door.
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And then, as if written by the hand of a bad novelist, an incredible thing happened.
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What was it that drew you back? My marvellous personality, I suppose? Or my sparkling conversation?
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The mercenary finished his coffee in a single gulp, It must have been piping hot, too. Boy, he was tough.
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Oh, the boots were on the other eight feet now.
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Hey, we've all got problems, chum. I'm overly talkative. You look like a field of buttercups in a suit.
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That's usually how they start, the young ones. Meaningless waffle.
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So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.
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Freedom is an illusion. It always comes at a price.
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He was transfixed at the sight of the lords and ladies of his realm running about like demented chickens.
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He was a worried man (I'm stretching the term a bit here, I know. By now, in his mid to late teens, he might just about have passed for a man. When seen from behind. At a distance. On a very dark night).
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Besides, if you're going to die horribly, you might as well do it with style.
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As an author, you need to keep talking to your audience to remind yourself what they like and what they don't like. You spend most of your life locked in a room, and you need to be social occasionally.
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Can you define plan as a loose sequence of manifestly inadequate observations and conjectures, held together by panic, indecision, and ignorance? If so, it was a very good plan.
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Haven't you done enough for a lifetime? Think about it - two power - crazed magicians killed, a hundred power - crazed magicians saved.
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I read a bit of the Icelandic sagas. They're fascinating in that they are completely ordinary. The farmer will go off into the hills and fight a troll, and then go back and do ordinary things. It's an odd mix of fantasy and reality.
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According to some, heroic deaths are admirable things. I've never been convinced by this argument, mainly because, no matter how cool, stylish, composed, unflappable, manly, or defiant you are, at the end of the day you're also dead. Which is a little too permanent for my liking.
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Then again, Solomon was human. And that meant he was flawed (Go on, take a look at yourself in the mirror. A good long look, if you can bear it. See? Flawed's putting it mildly, isn't it?)
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The column hung above the middle of the pentacle, bubbling ever upward against the ceiling like the cloud of an erupting volcanoe. There was a barely perceptible pause. Then two yellow staring eyes materialized in the heart of the smoke. Hey, it was his first time. I wanted to scare him. And it did, too.
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Ah, you coward! Look at you, running. Actually, it's called improvising.
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