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There's nothing more aggravating in the world than the midnight sniffling of the person you've decided to hate.

Shannon Hale

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Shannon Hale
Age: 50
Born: 1974
Born: January 26
Author
Fantasy Author
Novelist
Screenwriter
Writer
Salt Lake City
Utah
World
Aggravating
Midnight
Decided
Hate
Persons
Person
Nothing

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You've been quiet lately...but it's not so much the quiet as something inside the quiet.
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And new, too. Remade. Ready to move again. Listening was the start, she decided. Doing was the next step.
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Life is short, so live extra lives. Read books.
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Time is a wind that keeps blowing in my face and mumbling words that don't make sense.
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As a general rule, writing is very inconvenient.
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I always knew it was ill-fated, but he truly believed I would be his bride. I guess I'd never realized that before. He had taken my mucker hand and looked at my mottled face and believed we would wed. And he hadn't seemed sorry. In fact, he'd swooped me up in a corridor and kissed me. That set me to crying.
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When you get tired of worrying and mourning your horse and trying not to be afraid, tell me and I'll do it for you a while so you can shut your eyes and sleep peaceful.
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Her smile was peculiar - it made her nose wrinkle, not as though she smelled something unpleasant, but more that she was so amused, her whole face wanted to be a part of the smile.
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I was sorry to lose it, and if you make me another one, I promise not to get taken captive by bandits and have to use it to save my life.
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Razo hopped back up and adopted a posture that said he was completely unruffled, never had been, and in fact was ready to do something manly like lift boulders or swallow live worms.
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She dismounted, grabbed Enna's hand so tightly that she drew blood with her fingernails, walked straight into the nearest cottage, and plopped down on a bed. Enna nodded to the startled cottage dwellers. It's the queen, you see, said Enna. She's going to have a baby in your house. You don't mind?
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Mama used to say, you have to know someone a thousand days before you can glimpse her soul.
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I’ve always believed that as an author, I do 50% of the work of storytelling, and the reader does the other 50%. There’s no way I can control the story you tell yourself from my book. Your own experiences, preferences, prejudices, mood at the moment, current events in your life, needs and wants influence how you read my every word.
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Ani told them all...telling more than needed telling, the stories clarifying and unifying themselves in her mind as she let them spill out of her mouth.
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Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.
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Go on, son, you're not doing me any good by bleeding.
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Ah, now, don't cry over lost years and forgetfulness. The tales tell what they can. The rest is for us to learn.
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She closed the book and put her cheek against it. There was still an odor of a library on it, of dust, leather, binding glue, and old paper, one book carrying the smell of hundreds.
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It was karma, it was kismet, it was magic. It doesn't matter how it happened, just that it did.
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He had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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