Stephenie Meyer Can’t Write Worth A Darn.

Whenever I Publish A Book, I Feel Like A Trapper Caught By The Iroquois. They're All Lined Up With Tomahawks, And The Idea Is To Run Through With Your Head Down, And Everybody Gets To Take A Swing. They Hit You In The Head, The Back, The Ass, And The Balls.

Now Panic Beats And Flutters Inside My Skull Like A Flock Of Starlings Locked In An Attic.

To The Devil With False Modesty.

Our Memories Have Voices, Too. Often Sad Ones That Clamor Like Raised Arms In The Dark.

Teaching School Is Like Having Jumper Cables Hooked To Your Brain, Draining All The Juice Out Of You.