I Was Talking Cannibalism, Not Romance.

I Don't Break; I Bounce.

So In The Sweltering Heat Of A July Night, I Sang A Christmas Carol To A Room Full Of Fae, Who Had Been Driven Out Of Their Homelands By Christians And Their Cold-iron Swords.

You Cannot Sacrifice The World For Your Children.

I Don't Get Mad, I Get Even.

When I Write, I Get Glimpses Into Future Novels.