Every Writer Needs An Editor. I Don't

He Trailed Off As He Saw The Books. Piles And Stacks Of Them Beside The Sofa, Another Stack On The Coffee Table, A Sea Of Them On Her Dining Table. Jesus Christ, Dane, You Need Treatment.

Women Are The Worst. They Zero In On Some Guy.oh Boy, He's The One, Gotta Get Me That One. So They Do. Then They Spend The Rest Of Their Time Trying To Figure Out How To Change Him. Then If They Manage It, They're Not All That Interested Anymore, Because Guess What? He's Not The One Anymore.

I Don't Believe For One Moment You Can Write Well What You Wouldn't Read For Pleasure.

You--roarke." Eyes Watering, She Reached For More Tissue. "jesus, Eve. Jesus Christ, You Never Sleep With Anybody. And You're Telling Me You Slept With Roarke?" "that's Not Precisely Accurate. We Didn't Sleep.

Eve Talking To Someone On Her Computer And Having Trouble With The Language Translator....."i Have Two Like Crimes. Your Data And Your Input On Leclerk Would Be Very Helpful"marie Pursed Her Lips And Humor Danced In Her Eyes."it Says You Would Like To Have Sex With Me. I Don't Think That Is Correct""oh, For Christ Sake" Eve Slammed A Fist Against The Machine.