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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.

Jonathan Stroud

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Jonathan Stroud
Age: 54
Born: 1970
Born: October 27
Novelist
Writer
Jonathan Anthony Stroud
Body
Forward
Fabric
Attic
Doors
Flames
Attics
Boys
Reached
Nicely
Head
Lows
Stepped
Hand
Finally
Stairs
Igniting
House
Caught
Appeared
Slung
Hands
Door
Flame
Banged
Around
Sight
Sparks
Radiating

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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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So I departed, leaving behind a pungent smell of brimstone. Just something to remember me by.
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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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Did Lovelace's forces find you? Did Jabor break in? He spoke slowly through clenched teeth. I went to get a newspaper This is getting better and better! I shook my head regretfully. You should leave such a dangerous assignment to people better qualified: next time ask an old granny, or a toddler-
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We communicated with pithy, rather monosyllabic thoughts: viz. Run, Jump, Where? Left, Up, Duck, ect. (This latter was an observation I made on the edge of a lake. Nathaniel unfortunately took it as a command, which resulted in our temporary immersion.) We didn't ever quite say Ug, but it was a close-run thing.
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That's usually how they start, the young ones. Meaningless waffle.
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Oh, the boots were on the other eight feet now.
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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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The mercenary finished his coffee in a single gulp, It must have been piping hot, too. Boy, he was tough.
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Julius Tallow was a fool. He appeared complacent, but like a weak swimmer out of his depth, his legs were kicking frantically under the surface, trying to keep him afloat. Whatever happened, Nathaniel did not intend to sink with him.
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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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Zealots: Wild eyed persons afflicted with incurable certainty about the workings of the world, a certainty that can lead to violence when the world doesn't fit.
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When I write something that would have made me laugh as a 10-year-old, or would have scared me or would have excited me, I know I'm onto something.
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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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That's a gesture of endearment in some cultures. Some hug, some kiss, some set each other on fire in small patches of woodland
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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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And then, as if written by the hand of a bad novelist, an incredible thing happened.
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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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I wanted to wake you straightaway, but I knew I had to wait several hours to ensure you were safely recovered. What! How long has it been? Five minutes. I got bored.
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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.
Jonathan Stroud