There's A Market For Mysteries For Adults.

She's One Of The Few People Able To Look Beyond The Lines On My Face To See The Twenty-year-old Who Lives Inside.

Hope, How She Had Grown To Hate The Word. It Was An Insideious Seed Planted Inside A Person's Soul, Surviving Covertly On Little Tending, Then Flowering So Spectacularly That None Could Help But Cherish It.

She Did As She Felt, And She Felt A Great Deal.

Some Say I'm An Overnight Success. Well, That Was A Very Long Night That Lasted About 10 Years. But While I Do, Of Course, Now Feel The Pressure Having Had Books That Have Been Very Successful, I Just Know I Have To Concentrate On Writing For Myself. I Can't Worry About Genres Or Markets Or What Might Be Commercial Or Not. That Never Works.

Cassandra Always Hid When She Read, Though She Never Quite Knew Why. It Was As If She Couldn't Shake The Guilty Suspicion That She Was Being Lazy, That Surrendering Herself So Completely To Something So Enjoyable Must Surely Be Wrong. But Surrender She Did. Let Herself Drop Through The Rabbit Hole And Into A Tale Of Magic And Mystery.