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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.

MaryJanice Davidson

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MaryJanice Davidson
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Offers
Head
Impatiently
Enemy
Damned
Talk
Shaking
Thing
Majesty
Like
Suffered
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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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Take your hands off her, Sinclair told the guy behind me, Or they'll write books about what I'll do to you.
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Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
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There's more than one way for a girl to Google a cat.
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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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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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Also,I loathe it when you refer to me as dude Eric Sinclair to Betsy
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I zoomed in on the shoe department like a blonde homing pigeon. Shoes, shoes everywhere! Ah, sweet shoes. I truly think you can take the measure of a civilization by looking at its footwear.
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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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She couldn't tell where his pupils ended and the irises began looking into those eyes was like looking into a well where children had drowned.
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I've always assumed he'd be around to be, you know, yelled at and taken for granted. And of course I was wrong. Nobody's going to put up with that forever.
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You have attained maturity display it for us, if you please.
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I could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.
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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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Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
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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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Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
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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.
MaryJanice Davidson
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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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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.
MaryJanice Davidson