She'd Also Called Me Brave...unless She Was

You Have To Read A Lot So You Know What Good Writing Looks Like And You Get Inspired. You Have To Write A Lot Because It's Like A Sport - You Have To Practice. And, Also, You Have To Persevere. Don't Give Up. I Got Rejected On My First Book, Like, 14 Times, But I Just Kept Going. So Believe In Yourself And Don't Give Up.

Doubtful, But It Did Work... "annabeth?" Percy Said Again. "you're Planning Something. You've Got That I'm-planning-something Look." "i Don't Have An I'm-planning-something Look." "yeah, You Totally Do. Your Eyebrows Knit And Your Lips Press Together And ---" "do You Have A Pen?" She Asked Him. "you're Kidding, Right?" He Brought Out Riptide. "yes, But Can You Actually Write With It?" "i--i Don't Know," He Admitted. "never Tried.

Sanchez Looked At Me And We Locked Eyes A Second Too Long. There Was Nothing I Could Do About It. The Signal Went Out. A Moment Of Clear, Silent Hostility Passed Between Us As Hotly Charged And Unintentional As A Thousand-volt Arc Through A Squirrel.

He Dropped The Rest Of The Cokes Into The Grave And Pulled Out A White Paper Bag Decorated With Cartoons. I Hadn’t Seen One In Years, But I Recognized It — A Mcdonald’s Happy Meal. He Turned It Upside Down And Shook The Fries And Hamburger Into The Grave. “in My Day, We Used Animal Blood,” The Ghost Mumbled. “it’s Perfectly Good Enough. They Can’t Taste The Difference.” “i Will Treat Them With Respect,” Nico Said. “at Least Let Me Keep The Toy,” The Ghost Said.

So Mortals Tend To See Only What They Can Understand.