“Writing is a simple but elusive art,” he said. “To write is to describe. Describe accurately and respectfully. And perhaps passionately.”

“Then, like a born and bred asshole, he added to the sheriff, "He writes murder mysteries.”

“I suppose we all hit a point when no one has to describe fear & confusion for us anymore, a point when life carves it into us.”

“He was breathing, which is always a good sign.As gently as I could I picked him up, placed him on the towel, wrapped it around him, and put him in my car. I drove to the emergency clinic, the cat purring on the seat beside me.“What’s his name?” the young man at the front desk asked as my towel and cat were whisked to a back room.“Uh…John Tomkins,” I said.“That’s different,” the receptionist said, writing it down.“He was a pirate,” I said. “I mean Tomkins. I don’t know about the cat.”

“For me God existed in Primo Levi's writing, in the moments of reprieve he described when one human granted another respect in that godless wasteland of cruelty.”

“They met at one of the Bouchercon mystery conferences. Love among the midlist. “It’s raining cats and dogs!” Ted announced, which gives you an idea of the sort of thing they write.”

“I'm not insane. This is very simple, very straightforward. Provided he doesn't kill me, it's foolproof.”