“There are a number of things a woman can tell about a man who is roughly twenty-nine years old,sitting in the cab of a pickup truck at 3:37 in the afternoon on a weekday, facing the Pacific,writing furiously on the back of pink invoice slips. Such a man may or may not be employed, butregardless, there is mystery there. If this man is with a dog, then that's good, because it means he'scapable of forming relationships. But if the dog is a male dog, that's probably a bad sign, becauseit means the guy is likely a dog, too. A girl dog is much better, but if the guy is over thirty, anykind of dog is a bad sign regardless, because it means he's stopped trusting humans altogether. Ingeneral, if nothing else, guys my age with dogs are going to be work.Then there's stubble: stubble indicates a possible drinker, but if he's driving a van or a pickuptruck, he hasn't hit bottom yet, so watch out, honey. A guy writing something on a clipboardwhile facing the ocean at 3:37 P.M. may be writing poetry, or he may be writing a letter beggingsomeone for forgiveness. But if he's writing real words, not just a job estimate or somethingbusiness-y, then more likely than not this guy has something emotional going on, which couldmean he has a soul.”

“Zaphod Beeblebrox crawled bravely along a tunnel, like the hell of a guy he was. He was very confused, but he continued crawling doggedly anyway because he was that brave.”

“Any man with money to make the purchase may become a dog's owner. But no man --spend he ever so much coin and food and tact in the effort-- may become a dog's Master without consent of the dog. Do you get the difference? And he whom a dog once unreservedly accepts as Master is forever that dog's God.”

“She blinked. "Hmm? Oh, don't care. What did Anubis look like to you?""What did... he looked like a guy. So?""A good-looking guy, or a slobbering dog-headed guy?""I guess... Not the dog-headed guy.""I knew it!" Sadie pointed at me as if she'd won an argument."Good-looking. I knew it!"And with a ridiculous grin, she spun around and skipped into the house. My sister, as I may have mentioned, is a little strange.”

“A dog is not considered a good dog because he is a good barker. A man is not considered a good man because he is a good talker.”

“Why don't you write a story for me?”“Really?” I squeaked. “Um, what about?”“Well, something with a good guy and a bad guy and a hot chick.”…”Okay, anything else?”“The hot chick has to have pretty blonde hair and kickass blue eyes,”….”And the good guy is a musically talented man who is incredibly sexy...?”He grinned and kissed me. “Not at all – that's the bad guy. And I don't care if he wins or loses – that doesn't make a difference.” He shifted and hovered over me, kissing me again – and again and again and again...His lips lingered over mine as he whispered: “I just want the bad guy to get the girl.”

“What I've learned to do when I sit down to work on a shitty first draft is to quiet the voices in my head. First there's the vinegar-lipped Reader Lady, who says primly, "Well, that's not very interesting, is it?" And there's the emaciated German male who writes these Orwellian memos detailing your thought crimes. And there are your parents, agonizing over your lack of loyalty and discretion; and there's William Burroughs, dozing off or shooting up because he finds you as bold and articulate as a houseplant; and so on. And there are also the dogs: let's not forget the dogs, the dogs in their pen who will surely hurtle and snarl their way out if you ever stop writing, because writing is, for some of us, the latch that keeps the door of the pen closed, keeps those crazy ravenous dogs contained.”