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Take your hands off her, Sinclair told the guy behind me, Or they'll write books about what I'll do to you.

MaryJanice Davidson

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MaryJanice Davidson
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Told
Books
Guy
Write
Hands
Book
Sinclair
Take
Behinds
Writing
Behind

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I've got a folder full of rejection slips that I keep. Know why? Because those same editors are now calling my agent hoping I'll write a book or novella for them. Things change. A rejection slip today might mean a frantic call to your agent in six months.
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He snarled at me. This isn't over yet, Betsy. Excellent, I said. I would also have accepted 'You haven't seen the last of me' and 'You'll regret this'.
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We have souls. Sure we do. Otherwise we'd do bad things all the time. You know, like politicians.
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Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
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You don't scare me, Cadence Jones. I've lived with crazy, I've ridden with crazy, I've vacationed with crazy, I've visited crazy in various hospitals, I've sat in on therapy sessions with crazy. Frankly, I think women who don't have major emotional disorders are really very dull.
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Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
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Interesting shade #23 Lush Golden Blonde highlights. Heyyyyyy.... The woman in the awful suit was me! The woman in the cheap shoes was me!
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Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?
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I know it's practical for career women, but sneakers with suits? Jesus couldn't possibly weep harder than I did.
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It's nice to see you again, Laura. Thank you, Mrs. T- No, no, no. Please, my name is- Mud, I suggested. Mud Barfbag Taylor. Call her Asshat for short. ~Laura, Antonia, Betsy
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Majesty, I beg your forgiveness for the idignity you suffered and offer you the head of our enemy as— Put that thing down, I said impatiently. I can't talk to you when you're shaking his head like a damned maraca.
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You have attained maturity display it for us, if you please.
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All writers are crazy. So never mind what the editors and your family and your critique group tells you. Submit your manuscripts and keep submitting until you get an offer. Then you can be crazy, with a paycheck.
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It never failed—I'd buy a new journal, write like a madwoman for ten pages, then lose total interest in the process. Three months later, I'd start the whole process all over again. I think I just liked buying new notebooks.
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My my Laura Goodman. I must say that is a charming name for a charming young lady. Eric's old. I broke in. Really really old. Er— really? Laura asked. Gosh you don't look even out of your thirties. Tons of face-lifts. He's a surgical addict. I'm trying to get him help. I added defensively when they both gave me strange looks.
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... friends are such a mixed blessing.
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Kissing Sinclair was like making out with a sexy timber wolf— he was licking my fangs and nipping me lightly and growling under his breath and it was...oh, it was really something.
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Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
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I could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.
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