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Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?

MaryJanice Davidson

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MaryJanice Davidson
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Holy
Water
Death
Pelt
Crucifix
Poke
Communion
Burn

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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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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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Here I am, just wandering down a deserted street in the middle of the night. I hope I don't run into any trouble. Goodness, that would just ruin my whole evening. I strolled and hummed, trying to project Innocent Victim.
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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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You have attained maturity display it for us, if you please.
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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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The vampire bible, bound in human skin, written in blood, and full of prophecies that were never wrong. Trouble was, if you read the thing too long, it drove you nuts. Not I'm having a bad day and feel bitchy nuts or PMS nuts. I think I'll commit felony assault on my friends and rape my boyfriend nuts.
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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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I could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.
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Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
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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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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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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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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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They weren't moving. Perhaps I was dazzling then with my ineptitude. It had happened before.
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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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... friends are such a mixed blessing.
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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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There's more than one way for a girl to Google a cat.
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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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