And I like the light-up.”“The what?”“The light-up,” he’d say. “You know, that look people get when they finally realize you’re for real. It’s like electricity. It makes me tingle all over. Like a blanket full of static.” Ew. “Really? I’ve never heard that.”“Yeah, and I like it when people realize we’re out here.” I leaned in close once and asked him, “Do you want your mom to realize you’re out here? Do you want her to know?”“Nah. It took her too long to get over me.” All in all, he was a good kid.

— Darynda Jones

Any time a beloved character is killed off, it affects the audience in a very powerful way, especially in a series.

— Darynda Jones

As we sat there, the door opened, just barely, and a hand slid inside and dropped a set of keys on a side table." Thanks, Garrett!" I called out. He gave me a thumbs-up and closed the door." How do you suppose he knew we were performing sexual favors on each other?" I asked, snuggling against my man again." Possibly because you screamed my name about seven times.

— Darynda Jones

At first, I could lie about my lack of sleep, and she'd fall for it, but she started suspecting insomnia when I began seeing purple elephants in the air vents at the office. I knew I shouldn't have asked her about them. I thought maybe she'd redecorated.

— Darynda Jones

But have you ever seen one?.... They shook their heads. "Not Physically, no. But if you look at this passage - "Man, she liked that Bible. I'd read it and could definitely understand its appeal, but I didn't have time for this.

— Darynda Jones

Bye-bye. Nice knowing you. But if you are waiting for that perfect idea to strike like lightning during a dust storm (I live in New Mexico), you could be waiting a long time. Ideas are everywhere. EVERYWHERE. I can’t walk to the bathroom without being hit with another idea. It’s what you DO with that idea that matters. Here is your mantra: BICHON, BICHON, BICHOKTranslation: Butt in chair, hands on keys. Just write. Every stinking day.

— Darynda Jones

Can I brush your hair?” she asked as she led the way, her disposition doing a 180 on a dime. Kids. Can’t live with ’em. Can’t eat ’em for lunch.

— Darynda Jones

Developing your voice takes... time and practice.

— Darynda Jones

Did you catch the time-of-great-suffering thing?” Her expression softened. “Can you just make sure I’m not around when it happens?”“No can do,” I said, strolling back to my office with a negating wave of my hand. “If I have to suffer, then so does everyone else within a ten-mile radius.” She pursed her lips. “What ever happened to taking one for the team?”“Was never much of a team player.”“Sacrificing yourself for the greater good?”“Not that into human sacrifice.”“Suffering in silence?” I stopped and turned back to her, my eyes narrowing accusingly. “If I have to suffer, I’ll be screaming your name at the top of my lungs the whole time. You’ll be able to hear me all the way to Jersey, mark my words.”- Charley to Cookie

— Darynda Jones

Does he ever eat cotton candy for breakfast?" He stepped around the counter to face us, lowered his gaze, and took a sip from the black mug in his hands." No," I said. "He's very much like the Big Bad Wolf. He eats little girls for breakfast." He spoke from behind the cup, his voice deep and as smooth as butterscotch. "She's wrong. I eat big girls for breakfast.

— Darynda Jones