Why Would I Want To Win Anything

When The Hearthfire Turns To Blue, What To Do? What To Do? Run Outside, Run And Hide When His Eyes Are Black As Crow? Where To Go? Where To Go? Near And Far. Here They Are. See A Man Without A Face? Move Like Ghosts From Place To Place. Whats Their Plan? Whats Their Plan? Chandrian. Chandrian

Close Your Mouth, E'lir Kvothe, Or I Will Feel Obliged To Put Some Vile Tonic In It.

When Someone Writes Something Dazzlingly Brilliant, People Want To Imitate It. The Result Is A Lot Of Less-than-brilliant Knock-offs. Elves, Dwarves, Goblin Army, Cursed Ring, Evil Sorcerer. Tolkien Did It. It Rocked. Let's Move On. Let's Do Something New.

With His Eyes And Those Hands There Won't Be A Woman Safe In All The World When He Starts Hunting After The Ladies.' 'courting, Dear,' My Father Corrected Gently. 'semantics,' She Shrugged.

I Don't Try To Take A Person Out Of Our World And Put Them Into My World; That Wouldn't Work. It's Sort Of Like Bad Photoshop: If You See Something Photoshopped Together - And Even If It's Done Pretty Well - The Eye Catches On It. That Happens A Lot When People Try To Cut And Paste People From Our World Into Their Fourteenth-century Historical Romance Novel.