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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
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Betsy
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Excellent
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Did vampirism encourage Stockholm syndrome?
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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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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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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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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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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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Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?
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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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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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Zombieland reference, Jon said, nodding. How do you know that? That's a thousand-year-old reference! I looked at laura. I can't think of a single movie from a thousand years ago. Uh...Betsy... Don't say it. You know how you don't know how stupid something is until you hear yourself say it? That happened to me a lot.
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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 have attained maturity display it for us, if you please.
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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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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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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 could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.
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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 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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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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