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When the mountain quaked Like an elbow's nudge Like a shout that something is wrong The people awoke and Knew, yes, knew, that bandits had come

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
Shout
Mountain
Knew
Wrong
Awoke
Come
Bandits
Something
Elbow
Like
Nudge
People
Elbows

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Geric, she called. He turned back around. What kind of flowers were they? I don't rightly know, he said. He made faltering gestures with his hands, forming their size and shape from the air. They were yellow, and smallish, and had lots of petals. Thank you, she said. They were beautiful.
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Life is short, so live extra lives. Read books.
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If you're listening Big Brother, I refuse to be Fanny Price.
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There you go...let it all slide out. Unhappiness can't stick in a person's soul when it's slick with tears.
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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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Really, becoming a writer sounds more like a mental illness than a professional choice.
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Its important to know stories. I felt the earth shift to make a place for you when you were born, and I came to tell you stories while you are young. And like me, you were born with a word on your tongue.
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He had a dashing smile. It nearly dashed right off his face.
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He would never abandon her, never leave a gaping hole, and even if he died someday, he was preserved like a lab specimen from all the alcohol he imbibed, so he wouldn't look or act much different.
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Ani felt a stirring, a hope, a winged thing waking up in her chest and brushing her heart with it's feathers.
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I can see that one can never pay back Gilsa for the fear that she will give again.
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You are my butterfly and refuse to set you free.
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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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I couldn’t remember the last time I had stayed up into the squeaky hours of the night because I couldn’t put a book down, and that was a tragedy.
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... and with my last thought I felt some real sympathy for those poor chickens.
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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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You've been quiet lately...but it's not so much the quiet as something inside the quiet.
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It is a truth universally acknowledged that a thirty-something woman in possession of a satisfying career and fabulous hairdo must be in want of very little
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The army slew a thousand and showed little pity The king ordered fealty from the conquered city The prince charmed its people with words wise and witty And the queen sat on a couch, looking very pretty
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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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