My horse is plodding down a path unspooling under her hooves like a ball of wool, only wider, while I think of ways to wake kings or small children o… - Delia Sherman

Anybody who can get through March without breaking a glass, a friendship, a secret, a promise, or somebody's nose is either a saint or on vacation in Florida.

For me, creative energy is like an old-fashioned ground-water well. When the well is dry, it’s dry. I can dig all I like, and all I’ll get for my pains is sore hands, some very bad prose, and maybe (if I’m lucky) a few odd droplets of notes I can actually use. Or not. It’s usually not worth it. After many years, I’ve discovered that it’s better to wait until some ground water seeps back into the well rather than to try and lick up every drop as it emerges.

His mama beat him with an ugly stick so hard, it gone straight on till his soul.