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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'.

MaryJanice Davidson

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MaryJanice Davidson
Age: 55
Born: 1969
Born: August 1
Author
Novelist
Writer
Would
Accepted
Regret
Havens
Haven
Seen
Lasts
Snarled
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Betsy
Also
Excellent

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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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Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
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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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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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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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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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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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Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
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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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They weren't moving. Perhaps I was dazzling then with my ineptitude. It had happened before.
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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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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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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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Also,I loathe it when you refer to me as dude Eric Sinclair to Betsy
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Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
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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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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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Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?
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