When the work is the best work, it's more like being a secretary than it is a creative person, you just sort of take the stuff down.
Until that afternoon in October four years ago, I hadn't known dogs could scream.
Alone. Yes, that's the key word, the most awful word in the English tongue. Murder doesn't hold a candle to it and hell is only a poor synonym.
...so I think writers are made and not born. But what you choose to write is buried so deeply inside it's like lodestones inside you and sooner or later you come near something that you're supposed to...
If God gives you something you can do, why in God's name wouldn't you do it?
Start with a blank surface. It doesn't have to be paper or canvas, but I feel it should be white. We call it white because we need a word, but its true name is nothing. Black is the absence of light,...
The 3 types of terror: The Gross-out: the sight of a severed head tumbling down a flight of stairs, it's when the lights go out and something green and slimy splatters against your arm. The Horror: th...
she might have been pretty when she started out, but the world had moved on since then.
Strong delusions travel like cold germs on a sneeze.
I am always chilled and astonished by the would-be writers who ask me for advice and admit, quite blithely, that they "don't have time to read." This is like a guy starting up Mount Everest saying tha...
I don't believe in any actual thinking God that marks the fall of every bird in Australia or every bug in India, a God that records all of our sins in a big golden book and judges us when we die - I d...
Writing isn't about making money, getting famous, getting dates, getting laid, or making friends. In the end it's about enriching the lives of those who will read your work, and enriching your own lif...
The muses are ghosts, and sometimes they come uninvited.
The monster nevers dies.
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.
That wasn't any act of God. That was an act of pure human fuckery.
Sometimes when you're young, you have moments of such happiness, you think you're living on someplace magical, like Atlantis must have been. Then we grow up and our hearts break into two.
SSDD Same Shit Different Day
Now the two of them rode silently toward town, both lost in their own thoughts. Their way took them past the Delgado house. Roland looked up and saw Susan sitting in her window, a bright vision in the...
Murder is like potato chips: you can't stop with just one.