So Basically Your Plan Is To Flail

A Dancer On Break Approached Him. She Smiled. Each Tooth Was Angled In A Different Direction, As If Her Mouth Were The Masterwork Of A Mad Orthodontist. "hi," She Said. "hi." "you're Really Cute." "i Don't Have Any Money." She Spun And Walked Away. Ah, Romance.

I Always Say Three Things Make A Writer: Inspiration, Obviously; Perspiration, Doing The Work. But The Third Is Desperation. I'm Not Really Fit For Anything Else, Or To Have A Real Job. That Fear Drives Me. The Pressure Has Always Been Self Inflicted.

This Was A Place Where Tattoos Outnumbered Teeth.

I Wrote Seven Myron Bolitar Novels In A Row, And I Never Want To Write A Myron Book Where He Just Solves A Crime. Every One Of Them I Want To Be Personal, And I Want Him To Grow And Change. The Problem With That Is, It Makes The Series Limited, You Can't Write A Series Where A Guy Is Always Going Through Some Kind Of Crisis.

You Want This So Badly—this Second Chance, This Chance At Real Redemption—that You Can’t See The Truth.