It’s not just that you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. It’s that the first movement, taste, sentence, intentionally or not, stands in a unique position to communicate the whole. People may not judge a book by its cover, but they will get an indelible impression from that opening line.
The publishers didn’t think there was a market for our book. We think they’re wrong — and we think you’ll think so, too.
“I HAVE AN UNUSUAL relationship with death.…” So begins a saga, a story of war and training, of death and life, and also by any measure — certainly by word count — the biggest book I’ve ever written.
What I’ve learned about these thoughts is to just sit with them, not try to stop them. Just watch them go by. And not take them seriously.
There’s not a lot of juice in being good. You know where there’s a lot of juice? Finding ways to get better.
You and I have a lot more in common than you might think. We are both involved in the same act of magic. We are both conjuring up a fresh new character out of thin air.
This morning I woke up with a new novel in my head. Okay, not the whole novel. Just the first paragraph.
I’m in love. But then, I think I was born in love. I suspect you were, too.
The universe is a resonant place: send out a thought and, like a piano string vibrating to a struck tuning fork, it will hum it back.
This week a car crash reminded me, as I am so often reminded, of the exquisite fragility of existence — of how it hangs in every moment, suspended by a gossamer thread of unlikeliness.