Darynda Jones Quotes

You rented the apartment with a dead guy in the corner?” I shrugged. “I wanted the apartment, and I figured I could cover him up with a bookcase or something.

I may not look like much, but I'm an expert at pretending to be a ninja.

While the goal of a book is to create a positive emotional experience for the reader, the goal of the opening is to set the stage, to pull the reader in.

You know you have ADD when Look A chicken - T-shirt

We don’t read to observe the character from a distance. We read to become the character and experience the conflicts and rewards they are experiencing.

I thought you were mad at me.""I am.""Well, I make it a rule never to have sex with anyone who's mad at me."He arched a brow. "It's a wonder you've ever had sex at all.

Can I brush your hair?” she asked as she led the way, her disposition doing a 180 on a dime. Kids. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t eat ’em for lunch.

I learn from everything I do, right and wrong. I think it helps me grow as a writer and a person.

I could’ve knocked the shit out of her .She’d have good reason to roll her eyes then. But knocking the shit out of rude people wasn’t my style. Heckling them every chance I got was. Hopefully she’d screw up soon. I didn’t have all day.

If you can master the opening, you will be leaps and bounds ahead of the competition.

His gaze slid over me like a veil of fire. He could ignite my deepest desires with a single glance. I decided right then and there no more reading romance novels by candelight.

Any time a beloved character is killed off, it affects the audience in a very powerful way, especially in a series.

Should I leave you two alone?" he asked, changing the subject."He's taken," I said, accepting the fact that forgiving himself was something Reyes didn't do. "Osh. By someone very special.""And who might that be?"This might be a little hard for him to swallow. Tact was definitely in order. Or I could just blurt it out and watch his expression go from content to disbelief to horror to a bristly, murderous kind of fury. I chose door number two. "He's destined to be with our daughter."Reyes's expression slowly changed from content to disbelief to horror to a bristly, murderous kind of fury. "Oh, hell, no." He shot to his feet. "A Daeva? Are you fucking kidding me?"Just like a dad."Yes, a Daeva. But I wouldn't dismiss him so offhandedly."He whirled around and scowled. Not really at me. Just in general. "What do you mean?"I pressed one corner of my mouth together in thought. "Okay, you know how I was the grim reaper all of my life, then suddenly I'm also this god from another dimension? And how you're the son of Satan all your life, then suddenly you're a god from this dimension? Who does that? Our lives are so weird. I think that maybe Osh is something else, too." I traced one of the dark lines on his face. "I think there's more than meets the eye. I see greatness in him, Reyes. I see a power beyond our imaginings. I see him giving his life for our daughter.""Oh." He sat back down, satisfied. "As long as he dies in the end.

He had threatened my parents. I had to remember that. Still, it was really hard to stay mad at a wounded naked man.

Did you catch the time-of-great-suffering thing?”Her expression softened. “Can you just make sure I’m not around when it happens?”“No can do,” I said, strolling back to my office with a negating wave of my hand. “If I have to suffer, then so does everyone else within a ten-mile radius.”She pursed her lips. “What ever happened to taking one for the team?”“Was never much of a team player.”“Sacrificing yourself for the greater good?”“Not that into human sacrifice.”“Suffering in silence?”I stopped and turned back to her, my eyes narrowing accusingly. “If I have to suffer, I’ll be screaming your name at the top of my lungs the whole time. You’ll be able to hear me all the way to Jersey, mark my words.”- Charley to Cookie

Ambulances were cool. “You just want to fondle my extraneous body parts,” I said to the EMT as I picked up a silver gadget that looked disturbingly like an alien orifice probe, broke it, then promptly put it back, hoping it wouldn’t leave someone’s life hanging in the balance because the EMT couldn’t alien-probe his orifices.

ALWAYS hook a reader. If a detail is unnecessary, it doesn't belong in your work, long or short! Make everything intriguing. If you have to describe a desk, make it awesome.

You take a universal concept, something that has been done a million times (because everything has been done a million times), and add a fresh twist to it. Something no one saw coming. But mostly fresh writing! Keep it clean, simple, and compelling.

Maybe I needed sensitivity training. I once signed up for an anger management class, but the instructor pissed me off.

Writing doesn’t get any easier with time or talent. If writing is easy for you, you’re probably still learning the craft. You haven’t perfected your style or landed upon your “voice.” You haven’t learned to analyze your writing with a critical eye, to rip it apart and figure out why it isn’t doing exactly what you want.

Bye-bye. Nice knowing you. But if you are waiting for that perfect idea to strike like lightning during a dust storm (I live in New Mexico), you could be waiting a long time. Ideas are everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I can’t walk to the bathroom without being hit with another idea. It’s what you DO with that idea that matters. Here is your mantra: BICHOK, BICHOK, BICHOKTranslation: Butt in chair, hands on keys. Just write. Every stinking day.

You just seem so sad,” I said, dialing voice mail. “Like someone stole your favorite nine millimeter.”“I’m not sad.” He started down the hall, then turned back. “Least not when I look at you.”.

I made a decision long ago not to make any apologies. Romance rocks, and even though my books don't actually fall into the romance genre, I tout them as very much being about the romance. It's fun. We're all obsessed with it. And it's human nature. Remember, NO APOLOGIES! Write what 's in your heart!

I also become the local computer nerd. The administration brings me in to fix all the computers, I create viruses to invade at a specific day and time. They call me in, and I eradicate my own virus, only to plant another one to go into effect a couple months later. They ask me why I can't just fix the computers once and for all. I tell them to quit going to porn sites and it will stay fixed. That shuts them up every time.

We all have a certain knowledge about how the universe works. And when someone comes along and challenges that knowledge, we don’t know how to deal with it. We aren’t hardwired that way. It’s difficult to question everything you’ve ever thought to be true. So, like I said, it’s not your fault. You can believe me or not, but whichever you choose, you’re the one who has to deal with the consequences. So make your decision wisely, grasshopper,

If he didn't hate me so much and he wasn't an evil supernatural being, I'd be on him like black on Cookie's toast.That woman could not make toast.

He was leaving my stepmother for a sailboat. Not that I blamed him. A sailboat would at least be useful.

If it weren’t for physics and law enforcement, I’d be unstoppable.

Gemma Davidson,” she answered, her voice as groggy as I felt. “Where are you?” I asked. “Who is this?” “Elvis.” “What time is it?” “Hammer time?” “Charley.” “Did you text me? Did your car break down?” “No and no. Why are you doing this to me?” She was funny. “Check your cell.” I heard a loud, sleepy sigh, some rustling of sheets, then, “It won’t come on.” “Not at all?” “No. What did you do to it?” “I ate it for breakfast. Check the battery compartment.” “Where the hell is that?” “Um, behind the battery door.” “Are you punking me?” I heard her fumbling with the phone. “Gem, if I was going to punk you, I wouldn't simply turn off your phone. I would pour honey in your hair while you slept. Or, you know, something like that.” “That was you?” she asked, appalled.

You called me at four thirty-four....I hate four thirty-four. I think four thirty-four should be banned and replaced with something more reasonable, like, say, nine twelve.

You still owe me a million dollars." I'd presented him with a bill for proving his innocence and getting him freed from prison. He had yet to pay. Couldn't imagine why."Yeah, I was hoping we could work that out.""The interest alone is going to kill you.""What do you charge?""Three hundred eighty-seven percent.""Is that ethical?""It's as ethical as my dating the son of Satan.

I am apparently the complete opposite of a sociopath. (Seriously. I took a test.) WHEW! ‪#‎dodgedabullet‬

I sort of got off on making bad guys sweat. Which was not unlike my love of making good guys sweat, just by very different means.

For the first time in my life, I was in a shoot-out. A real, honest-to-goodness shoot-out with a bad guy. And, apparently, we both sucked.

When life hands you lemons say,"Lemons? What else have you got?"- bumper sticker

No writing is effortless. I’m not saying you can’t have a good day where the words just kind of flow, but even those words have to be edited. Probably more than once. And I’m not saying a character hasn’t somehow gone in a different direction that I wanted her to go, but that was me, not her. I let her get away from me. I let her roam free and nine times out of ten, the result is not good. I have to go back and start over because she veered off the path of my book. She changed the vision. And I did that. Not her.

Since I didn't have a candy wrapper to help me with the bad connection I was about to have, I resorted to using vocal sound effects. When Agent Carson picked up, I started my performance. "Agent... Agent Carson," I said, panting into the phone."Yes, Charley." She seemed unimpressed, but I wasn't about to stop now."I--I know who the kshshshshshsh are.""I'm a little busy right now, Davidson. What is a Ksh, and why do I care?""I'm sorry. My kshshsh... is kshshsh... ing."I repeat. What is a Ksh? And why do I care if it is ksh-ing?"She was a tough one. I knew I should have waited and bought a Butterfinger at the Jug-N-Chug. Those wrappers crakled like Rice Krispies on a Saturday morning. "You aren't listeni--kshshsh.""You're really bad at this.""Bank ro-ksh-ers. I know who they kshshsh.""Charley, if you don't cut this crap out."I hung up and turned off my phone before she could figure out what I was trying not to tell her and call back.

Have you slept yet?''Sure. I took a power nap on the way over.''Didn't you drive there?''Yeah. Other drviers kept waking me up. Car horns should be illegal.'- Charley & Cookie

Step back and scrutinize your work, to delve deep into the meaning behind the words, it will get both easier in some ways and harder in others. Either way, you need to practice everyday. You will probably get faster with time, because you learn to do this instinctively, and the writing may flow better on some days more than others, but it doesn’t get easier. And if you aren’t writing everyday, you are doing yourself and your craft a disservice. Writing is a habit. Get into the habit.

LIKE THE SUICIDAL RACCOON, I, TOO, WILL FUCK UP YOUR ALIGNMENT IF YOU RUN ME OVER. - T-shirt

The key to high concept is that fresh twist. Make it a big one. Wow your reader. Force her to gasp when she comes to that part in your story.

There is a difference between fresh and weird. You never want to throw your reader out of the story. Keep it fresh but natural.

Want coffee?" I asked, as I headed that way."It's three thirty in the morning.""Okay. Want coffee?

Amador and Bianca have a great life that I'm only a little jealous of. They have two kids they bring to see me. His daughter, Ashlee, is almost five now. She has asked me to marry her when I get out. It feels kind of weird since she calls me Uncle Reyes and incest is frowned upon, but who am I to argue with true love?

After an initial rush of pleasure that left me trembling with need, I broke off the heated kiss and whispered, "Okay, you win."He leaned over me and said into my ear, "Dutch, I won the moment you crawled into bed."He really did need to work on his self-esteem.

Paperwork wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for all the paper. And the work.

Read. Write. Read some more. Explore the universe through your writing. Practice and learn what moves you and what doesn't.

There's another part, an obstinate part, that wants more. That wants Dutch live and in the flesh. That wants her hand. Her mouth. Her hips under mine. It wants all of her. Every last ounce. Body and soul.

You totally need to watch the news.""Can't.""Why?""It's too depressing.""Right, because hanging with dead people isn't.

Real writers write. Period. No, the muse does not come to visit everyday. She’s a lazy, precocious flirt. You cannot get into the habit of being “in the mood” to write. No writer on Earth is in the mood to write everyday, but the good ones do it anyway. They fight through their fatigue, their stress, their doubt, and they write. They get the words on the page. Period. So stop waiting for your muse. Trust me, she sleeps around.

Gemma had blond hair and blue eyes. I did not.Gemma was always an A student. I was more of a B-all-you-can-be kind of gal.When Gemma was into science, I was into skipping.When Gemma was into foreign languages, I was into the hot Italian guy down the street.

You do have a tendency to severe spinal cords.""Only for you.

A lot of people are alive because I shed too much hair to get away with murder.

Insanity does NOT run in my family. It strolls through, takes its time, and gets to know everyone personally. —T-SHIRT

Thrilled that Reyes and I were outside, and taking that as her cue to get her freak on, Artemis ran around like a gerbil on meth, turning occasionally to make sure we were still watching. And God help us if we weren't.

At first, I could lie about my lack of sleep and she'd fall for it, but she started suspecting insomnia when I began seeing purple elephants in the air vents at the office. I knew I shouldn't have asked her about them. I thought maybe she'd redecorated.

My fore-parts, as you so ineloquently put it, have names.”I pointed to my right breast. “This is Danger.” Then my left. “And this is Will Robinson. I would appreciate it if you addressed them accordingly.” After a long pause in which he took the time to blink several times, he asked, “You named your breasts?”I turned my back to him with a shrug. “I named my ovaries, too, but they don’t get out as much.

He bombarded me with words, of all things, apparently clueless to the fact that the predawn hours rendered me incapable of coherent thought.

Amber was busy flirting with a rookie named Dead Meat if he didn’t stop flirting back. She was eleven, for heaven’s sake! Of course, he may have just been humoring her. And it was a little cute. In a gross, Chester-the-molester kind of way.

If I couldn't be a good example, I'd just have to be a horrible warning.