Life Isn't Fair," Owen Told Her. "get

Really, It Had Been Stupid To Expect Anything Anyway. A Few Late Nights Does Not A Habit, Or A Relationship, Make.

So Maybe It Wasn't The Fairy Tale. But Those Stories Weren't Real Anyway. Mine Were.

Usually When I Finish The Draft Of A Book, I'm Sure I'll Never Write Another One. I'm Just That Tired And Sick Of Myself. But Then Another Idea Starts Percolating. It Usually Begins With The Narrator's Name, Then Some Idea That Intrigues Me About Her Life Or Situation. I Try To Ignore It As Long As I Can, Because I Know When I Start Writing, I'll Be Right Back Into It, Every Single Day. But Eventually, I Just Have To. It's A Compulsion!

Even If You Do Make Tons Of New Friends,” I Told Him, “try Not To Forget Where You Came From, Okay?

Now, See," Wes Said, Nodding At My Plate, "this Is Going To Blow Your Mind." I Looked At Him. "it's A Waffle, Not The Second Coming.