Top 71 Quotes & Sayings by MaryJanice Davidson
Explore popular quotes and sayings by an American author MaryJanice Davidson.
Last updated on September 18, 2024.
I used to be a model and a medical test subject, though never at the same time. And since we didn't have much money when I was a kid, I know how to fish and hunt for my supper. And I used to win awards in speech in high school, which comes in handy when I speak to 200 people at a writers' conference.
Magic: The Gathering is like Dungeons and Dragons if D&D was played with cards and didn't take 18 weeks.
Being a writer is great, and being a parent is great, and I hate Marching Band.
I might occasionally forget how to open a car door and have too many shower curtains, but I've got some standards.
I've found I can plunge the characters into whatever absurd, awful situation, and readers will follow as long as the writer makes them seem like 'real people.'
I like the idea of federal employees licensed to carry weapons who are also heavily medicated; it just works for me on all sorts of levels.
I once came back from a book tour where sleek black cars driven by nice men in black suits waited for me at every hotel, took me to every signing, brought me back, opened car doors for me. They were great. I was great. It was a wonderful tour.
I wrote for free for, like, fifteen years; I could redo my parlor in rejection slips. It would be surprisingly tasteful - they use nice paper.
I'm a sucker for the big, gruff, distant, emotionally closed-off hero who sloooowly warms up to the feisty, awesome, sweet heroine.
When I first quit my day job, I was terrified. I called my editors and said I'm trying to make a go of this, and they threw every contract at me they could. And for two years, I had a book or an anthology out every month.
The silly antics that would get me in trouble at school have put me on the best-seller list. So I guess the moral here is ignore your teach... never mind. That's not the moral. Probably.
I love traveling, but I love the bum I married, and the bums I gave birth to, more. And the dogs. I love them, too.
My 20s were a blizzard of rejection slips.
I'm really fortunate that I type 120 words a minute.
I love interviews, meeting fans, teaching workshops, giving speeches... all of it.
When I wrote the first Betsy book, 'Undead and Unwed,' I had no idea, none, that it would be a career-defining, genre-defining book, the first of over a dozen in the series, the first of over 70 published books, the first on my road to the best-seller list, the first on my road to being published in 15 countries.
I'm more to my family than a wonderful, luminous cook. I'm also a wonderful, luminous butler and a wonderful, luminous chauffer. And checkbook. I'm a luminous checkbook, too.
I always knew I'd keep at it with the plodding doggedness that I used to master lump-less gravy and wriggle out of fitness classes; I always knew I'd get a zillion rejection slips. I figured I'd write part time while working various full-time office jobs, and maybe, maybe in my 50s, I'd be able to quit and try writing full time.
I can't not write funny. It's literally the only way I know how to do it.
I'll cough up the bitter truth right now, at the risk of losing my Feminism Club Decoder Ring: I didn't go see 'Inside Out' for Amy Poehler, though she's terrific. I went to see my dark prince, Lewis Black.
I'd go to a bookstore, and I'd flip through flap copy, and I'd think, 'If this gal can get published, I can get published.'
I guess you could say that no matter what the characters are enduring, I try to make them retain their humanity. Their self-absorbed, grouchy, selfish, aggravating humanity.
I own two beautiful homes, and I'm always half-expecting the cops to pull in, seize me with firm compassion, and escort me out.
Among other things, Marching Band forms state that if my kid starts acting like a li'l jerkface on a trip, Marching Band can call and command me to pick up my li'l jerkface.
I've always assumed he'd be around to be, you know, yelled at and taken for granted. And of course I was wrong. Nobody's going to put up with that forever.
All writers are crazy. So never mind what the editors and your family and your critique group tells you. Submit your manuscripts and keep submitting until you get an offer. Then you can be crazy, with a paycheck.
Never let your fiend off his leash unless there's lots of room to run (and no people around).
Has anyone ever told you that you lack focus?
Take your hands off her, Sinclair told the guy behind me, Or they'll write books about what I'll do to you.
You'll pay," she said stonily. "You won't be like this by this time tomorrow." "Bored and pissed off? God, I hope not.
She couldn't tell where his pupils ended and the irises began; looking into those eyes was like looking into a well where children had drowned.
Elizabeth Anne Taylor April 25, 1974 - April 25, 2004 Our Sweetheart, Only resting
It's inappropriate for the queen of the dead to be afraid of ghosts.
You have attained maturity; display it for us, if you please.
Also,I loathe it when you refer to me as dude" Eric Sinclair to Betsy
I—I adore you, too. Well, I don't know if I adore you. That's not really the word I'd use. But I—I—" I managed to wrench it out. God, this was hard! "I love you." "Of course you do," he said, totally unsurprised. "WHAT? I finally tell you my deepest, most personal feelings and you're all, 'Yeah, I already got that memo'? This, this is why you drive me nuts! This is why it's so hard to tell you things! I take it back.
Interesting shade #23 Lush Golden Blonde highlights. Heyyyyyy.... The woman in the awful suit was me! The woman in the cheap shoes was me!
Back off, boys. You don't want to mess with an out-of-work secretary. We're real testy.
Majesty, I beg your forgiveness for the idignity you suffered and offer you the head of our enemy as—" "Put that thing down," I said impatiently. "I can't talk to you when you're shaking his head like a damned maraca.
He snarled at me. "This isn't over yet, Betsy." "Excellent," I said. "I would also have accepted 'You haven't seen the last of me' and 'You'll regret this'.
I'm rubber and you're glue," I told Satan, " and everything that bounces of me sticks to you.
I trudged around on the muddy river bottom for half an hour, patiently waiting to drown, before giving up and slogging my way back to shore.
We have souls. Sure we do. Otherwise we'd do bad things all the time. You know, like politicians.
Never, EVER give up. Not ever. Not EVER. Ever EVER!
I've been stabbed before. Barely a week ago, in fact. AND I've been audited, AND I come from a broken home. In short - no offense, shorty - you don't scare me.
... friends are such a mixed blessing.
My my Laura Goodman. I must say that is a charming name for a charming young lady." "Eric's old." I broke in. "Really really old." "Er— really?" Laura asked. "Gosh you don't look even out of your thirties." "Tons of face-lifts. He's a surgical addict. I'm trying to get him help." I added defensively when they both gave me strange looks.
I could have gone to medical school, I said. Except for all the math and stuff.
It was scary how much she sounded like me sometimes. Maybe that's why she totally got on my nerves
Kissing Sinclair was like making out with a sexy timber wolf— he was licking my fangs and nipping me lightly and growling under his breath and it was...oh, it was really something.
I've got a folder full of rejection slips that I keep. Know why? Because those same editors are now calling my agent hoping I'll write a book or novella for them. Things change. A rejection slip today might mean a frantic call to your agent in six months.
Yeah, well, it's been a super fun week. And by 'super fun' I mean 'horrible and endless'.
I know it's practical for career women, but sneakers with suits? Jesus couldn't possibly weep harder than I did.
They weren't moving. Perhaps I was dazzling then with my ineptitude. It had happened before.
There's more than one way for a girl to Google a cat.
He said my name the way diabetics talked about hot fudge sundaes.
Here I am, just wandering down a deserted street in the middle of the night. I hope I don't run into any trouble. Goodness, that would just ruin my whole evening." I strolled and hummed, trying to project Innocent Victim.
Wow, girlfriend, you're incompatible with life! And here I thought I was just incompatible with pink.
Why is it suddenly uncool to spell? That's all I want to know.
Can you burn me up with holy water? Poke me to death with your crucifix? Pelt me with communion wafers?
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