When someone tells me to 'just relax,' I wonder why they don’t hand me a book?

Books are wishing stars fallen to Earth, waiting for people to live their dreams through reading.

The magic of reading happens when an author’s written work strings you along until your imagination, aware of your wants, molds the tale into an extraordinary world to be visited frequently—perhaps dwelt in for years.

When a person reaches the end of a book and says, 'I want to read that again,' what he's actually saying is that he wants to mentally merge with his favorite character and stroll among all the other creative personalities, feeding a hungry imagination through the vicarious reliving of each and every wild chapter that stirred his emotions, the whole while surrendering to a safe yet daring existence where any crazy, hopeful thing can and does happen. That's all.

Experience is the catalyst for all great stories.

The pleasures of being a novelist are many.  But the greatest by far is the manner in which I live through my characters; experiencing every detail of their story as it unfolds gradually and personally within my own creative psyche.  I'm like a cat with untold lives, because each new book is my rebirth.

A closed book will lie there like a dead horse. But an open book will kick, buck, and bolt through perceived adventures like a wild and free stallion. So hold on.

It's a phenomenal experience jumping from the devious mind of a sorceress bent on conquering the world to the compassionate musing of a queen capable of healing life with a touch—all in a flicker of thought. That's why I love writing.

Hey, pretty book, why don’t you lie in my lap awhile?