Darynda Jones Quotes - Page 2

Who knew Demon Child would have such a normal name? I expected something exotic like Serena or Destiny or the Evil One That Comes in the Night to Make Us Chilly.

There is a great need for a sarcasm font.

So, where are you from?" Agent Carson asked Reyes. "Originally?"I whirled around to face him again, this time pinning him with a warning glare. Carson was an FBI agent, but I was all about stealth. Surely she wouldn't pick up on my silent threat.He studied my mouth, not the least bit worried about my warning glare, then said at last, "Here and t

Since I had a soft spot for zombies and my curiosity was killing me, I opted for plan Z.

The point is, stories can be all lengths. Never underestimate the power of “less is more.

After a long, labored sigh, I said, “She was really happy when I got there. I’m pretty sure she was suicidal when I left.”“You do have that effect on people.

He turned the corner and flipped me off at the same time. See? Men could multitask. I was so proud of him.

Developing your voice takes... time and practice.

A clear conscience is usually the sign of a bad memory. —STEVEN WRIGHT

As we sat there, the door opened, just barely, and a hand slid inside and dropped a set of keys on a side table."Thanks, Garrett!" I called out.He gave me a thumbs-up and closed the door."How do you suppose he knew we were performing sexual favors on each other?" I asked, snuggling against my man again."Possibly because you screamed my name about seven times.

We’re going down to the Margarita Grill to smell the lobster, then we’re going to watch the sunrise, and in between we’ll probably have hot, unsafe animal sex.

In the meantime, I had to get dressed and go to work, because going to work in my pajamas was apparently the definition of unprofessional. Cookie's words. I looked it up though. She was wrong. Webster's mentioned nothing about pajamas.

I’m currently unsupervised It frisks me out too but the possibilities are endless

I've been rejected a hundred times. It just takes that one person who totally believes in you!

And I like the light-up.”“The what?”“The light-up,” he’d say. “You know, that look people get when they finally realize you’re for real. It’s like electricity. It makes me tingle all over. Like a blanket full of static.”Ew. “Really? I’ve never heard that.”“Yeah, and I like it when people realize we’re out here.”I leaned in close once and asked him, “Do you want your mom to realize you’re out here? Do you want her to know?”“Nah. It took her too long to get over me.”All in all, he was a good kid.

Screw the beaten path! Do your thing. Write the best story you can. the rest will fall into place.

I still had my hand on his side, careful not to press. He reached out and hooked a finger into the belt loop on my jeans. It felt so natural, so fulfilling, to be there with him. To talk with him as if we did it everyday. As if we'd been doung it every day for years. Not even the heat of Ian's fury could penetrate the warmth I was getting from Reyes.

In that one, they'd done their darnedest to destroy Riley's Switch. This time, instead of two-by-fours and tire irons, they seemed a little more focused on choke holds and knees to the face. Their desire to be close to each other was sweet.

But have you ever seen one?....They shook their heads. "Not Physically, no. But if you look at this passage - "Man, she liked that Bible. I'd read it and could definitely understand it's appeal, but I didn't have time for this.

Does Uncle Bob have anything?""I heard he has an STD.""I mean on the women.""Oh, I have no idea if they have any STDs.

God I loved Sammy. I’d considered marrying him, but his wife got upset when I asked for his hand.

Don't let writers block push you around. Figure out what the problem is,whether it's with the ms or it's in your personal life, and face it head on. Don't stop writing. Just try really hard to work through it.

And as your writing evolves, what you need and get from it evolves.

I think the first draft is so challenging because that elusive BALANCE is so challenging.

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.

You hit me again," I said, growing oddly annoyed."Ya think?" Evil Riggs said. Smart-ass."Part of my brain hurts. I demand to know what that part of my brain is called and what its job is.

Doing nothing is hard. You never know when you’re done. —T-SHIRT

Nobody wants to look like a fool. Nine times out of ten, thatreason alone keeps people from allowing themselves to believe.

I am a huge believer in revelations and fun twists.

The woman eyed Ubie a moment before grabbing a pen and writing down the dates I had. Ubie eyed her back. Sparks flew.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel. A finished manuscript is AWESOME! So go, go, go! *waves pompoms*

I know what kind of man it takes to get involved with something as barbarous as human trafficking.”“I get it, Swopes. He’s not the kind of man you take home to meet yourstepmom.” I rethought that. “Wait a minute. Maybe my stepmom would like to meet him. Do you think he ships to Istanbul?

Men were weird. Especially men made of tempered steel and fire and perpetual darkness. Or men with penises. Either way

There are very few personal problems that can't be solved with a suitable application of high explosives.

How old are you, anyway?""How old are you?""Seventeen."I raise a brow."Almost. I'll be seventeen in two weeks. You?"Part of me doesn't want to tell her. She'll be horrified. But part of me wants to know what she will do when she knows the truth. "How old do you think I am?"She lifts a slender shoulder. "At first I thought maybe eighteen, but now I'm thinking at least nineteen. Maybe even twenty?""why's that?""You seem very ... experienced."I nod. "You're close. Today's my birthday. I'm thirteen.

Writing is transcendental. It is a form of expression, a form of art that you can take anywhere. That you can do anywhere. It poses the deepest questions in the universe. It generates emotion. It elicits empathy, promotes learning, creates an intellect you simply cannot get from any other medium. For me, it is air.

I do not," I felt oddly appalled by her statement. "I'm an excellent liar. Ask my dentist. He swears I floss regularly.

I was never really certain why he scared the bejesus out of me. Nothing scared me growing up. I’ve been playing with dead people since the day I was born, so it’s good thing, yet the Big Bad scared me. Which brings me to the reason I called.” “Which was to give me nightmares for the rest of my life?” “Oh, no, that’s just a plus. Why was I so scared of him?” “Hon, for one thing he was this powerful, massive, black smokelike being.”“So, you’re saying I’m a racist?

Never knock on death's door. Ring the doorbell then run. He totally hates that. - T-shirt

I stood and walked around the desk so I could stand over him. Menacingly. Like Darth Vader, only with better lung capacity.

Humor is so subjective, not everyone is going to get what you are peddling. Others will be offended when what you meant no offense whatsoever. Those are the stakes. You have to be able to stand up for yourself and what you’ve written. Comedy pushes limits, makes people uncomfortable, and is a natural reaction to the environment. Otherwise, as I said, it is forced. Let it flow and give your characters permission to cross a line or two, but only if you can take the heat afterward.

WHILE writing, just try to have fun with your ms. Enjoy the process, but push on. Always push toward the finish line!

Never wait for your muse. Train him/her to show up to work when you do by pushing on. It's a dominant submission thing.

In a moment of sheer terror, I realized I couldn't feel my brain. It was there just a minute ago. Maybe I really was dead. "Do I look dead to you?

My goal in life is to have a psychiatric disorder named after me.

Keep Reading.Keep Writing.Keep Pushing yourself!And never stop learning!We writerly types have to stick together mostly because everybody else thinks we're "weird".

I essentially killed those men. Am I slated for hell?"He stepped to me. Put his fingers underneath my chin. Raised it until our gazes locked. "You're a god, Dutch. And the reaper. You don't get slated. You are the slate.

The regular I both feared and salivated to see was names Reyes Farrow. Where others exuded aggression, deception, and insecurity, he literally dripped confidence, sex, and power. Mostly sex.

I like to see the glass as half full, hopefully of jack daniels.

Does he ever eat cotton candy for breakfast?"He stepped around the counter to face us, lowered his gaze, and took a sip from the black mug in his hands."No," I said. "He's very much like the Big Bad Wolf. He eats little girls for breakfast."He spoke from behind the cup, his voice deep and as smooth as butterscotch. "She's wrong. I eat big girls for breakfast.

Sorry. i just can't seem to help myself. My brain is freaking out. Two predawn mornings in a row. It doesn't know what to think, how to act. I'll have a talk with it later. Perhaps get it some counseling.

I cannot tell you how important fresh, crisp writing is for an aspiring writer. Plot is great. The overall concept is super important. But the writing is what sells your work. It all boils down to the words you choose and the order in which you arrange them.

I stop fighting my inner demons. We're on the same side now. T-shirt

My powers of persuasion are only as strong as the bullshit I have to back it up.- Charley Davidson

Fresh writing and an original twist on an old idea. As much as this term is hated in the industry, it doesn't make it any less true. High concept. Simply put, 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.

You know?” he asked.“Yes. I know what I am.”“You – you do?”“I’m a time traveler.

That took balls.""Please," I said with a snort, "that took ovaries. Of which I have two.

Why do you suppose I’m here?” I asked him. Angel. A thirteen-year-old departed gangbanger. “Just ’cause you’re supposed to be, I guess.