Only A Fool Worries Over What He

There Is Something Powerfully Beguiling About The Excited Eyes Of A Young Woman. They Can Pull All Manner Of Nonsense Out Of A Foolish Young Man, And I Was No Exception To This Rule.

Fantasy Is A Genre That Allows Me To Create Anything I Want. That, In Turn, Allows Me To Explore Any Sort Of Idea I'm Curious About. I Love It Because Fantasy Is A Genre That Asks, "what If...?" That's My Favorite Question.

I Know There's A Lot Of Talk About Self-publishing Right Now. Everyone's Giddy With The Possibilities. And I'll Admit That It Looks Good On Paper: Sell Your Books Directly And Keep A Bigger Chunk Of The Profit For Yourself. No Rejection Letters. No Hassle With Agents. Sounds Good, Right?

Denna Is A Wild Thing," I Explained. "like A Hind Or A Summer Storm. If A Storm Blows Down Your House, Or Breaks A Tree, You Don't Say The Storm Was Mean. It Was Cruel. It Acted According To Its Nature And Something Unfortunately Was Hurt. The Same Is True Of Denna.

She Looked At Me. "what? Is There Something Wrong With My Idea?" "it's Not Very Heroic," I Said Dismissively. "i Was Expecting Something With A Little More Flair." "well, I Left My Armor And Warhorse At Home," She Said. "you're Just Upset Because Your Big University Brain Couldn't Think Of A Way, And My Plan Is Brilliant.