I am one of the happiest people I know. And that's a weird place to have arrived at from being a depressed Jewish kid.
Slice him where you like, a hellhound is always a hellhound.
I always advise people never to give advice.
Always get to the dialogue as soon as possible. I always feel the thing to go for is speed. Nothing puts the reader off more than a big slab of prose at the start.
I always strive, when I can, to spread sweetness and light. There have been several complaints about it.
A melancholy-looking man, he had the appearance of one who has searched for the leak in life's gas-pipe with a lighted candle.
Sober or blotto, this is your motto: keep muddling through.
Well, actually, I don't consider myself a jazz legend or anything.
It is no sin to doubt some things but it may be fatal to believe everything.
Then came October, full of merry glee.
People pitch me the crazy mystery mind-blowing thing all the time. My response is, 'Great, but how do the characters feel about it, and how do we reveal new facets and new dimensions of who they are?