If You're Not Ready To Die, Then

Growing Up, I'd Already Decided I Wanted To Be A Beatnik. A Bohemian Poet, I Thought. Or A Musician. Maybe An Artist. I'd Dress In Black Turtlenecks And Smoke Gitanes. I'd Listen To Cool Jazz In Clubs, Getting Up To Read Devastating Truths From My Notebook, Leaning Against The Microphone, Cigarette Dangling From My Hand.

When One Of My Characters Becomes Aware Of A Magical Element, It Might Be Because The World Is Wider Than We Assume It To Be, But It Might Also Be A Reminder To Pay Attention To What Is Here Already, Hidden Only Because It's Been Forgotten.

The Real Problem Is, People Think Life Is A Ladder, And It's Really A Wheel.

Even, She Thought, Even Without The Gift Of Witchsight, There Was More Beauty To Be Found In The World Than Could Ever Be Snared In Language Or Music. And With The Sight.

From The First Time He'd Met Her, He'd Sensed An Air Of Contradiction About Her. She Was Very Much A Woman, But Still Retained A Waiflike Quality. She Could Be Brash, And At Times Deliberately Suggestive, Yet She Was Painfully Shy. She Was Incredibly Easy To Get Along With, Yet She Had Few Friends. She Was A Talented Artist In Her Own Right, But So Self-conscious About Her Work That She Rarely Completed A Piece And Preferred To Work With Other People's Art And Ideas.