Sneak Preview Quotes

awhile, adv. I love the vagueness of words that involve time. 'It took him awhile to come back' -- it could be a matter of minutes or hours, days or years. It is easy for me to say it took me awhile to know. That is about as accurate as I can get. There were sneak previews of knowing, for sure. Instance that made me feel, oh, this could be right, But the moment I shifted from a hope that needed to be proven to a certainty that would be continually challenged? There's no pinpointing that. Perhaps it never happened. Perhaps it happened while I was asleep. Most likely, there's no signal event. There's just the steady accumulation of 'awhile'.

Sometimes this just happens,” Kylie said, much calmer now that she had a sneak preview of his comeuppance. “Just happens?” Burnett bellowed out. “Are you freaking kidding me! If you have sex, you use protection. It’s that simple. This shit doesn’t have to happen! This is nothing but carelessness. It’s irresponsible. It’s unforgivable.” “Burnett!” Holiday rolled her eyes at Kylie and frowned. The fae knew exactly what Kylie was up to now. But Kylie wasn’t finished yet. “Maybe we should put a rule in place. Any male who impregnates a girl should be neutered.” “Enough,” Holiday snapped. “Actually, that’s not a bad plan!” he growled. “Burnett!” Holiday said in a stern voice. “Shut up before you embarrass yourself more than you already have.” When the vampire looked at Holiday, she continued, “Kylie didn’t buy the pregnancy tests for Miranda. She bought them for me.” Kylie flopped back against the seat again, enjoying the look of disbelief on the vampire’s face a little too much. “Would you like a name of a good doctor who will schedule your little snip-snip operation?” she bit out.

No sneak previews. Except this one. You'll see me again soon. When the Pandora box opens.-River, Doctor Who

It is easy for me to say it took me awhile to know. That is about as accurate as I can get. There were sneak previews of knowing, for sure. Instances that me feel, oh, this could be right. But the moment I shifted from a hope that needed to be proven to a certainty that would be continually challenged? There's no pinpointing that.

Shy, all those things you listed don’t make a person. They don’t. I mean it. You’re beautiful, both inside and outside, but please don’t look at me to validate that. You have to know it for yourself. -Taylor Holden, Strapped.

SNEAK PREVIEW OF THE NEXT IVY & BEAN ADVENTURE

Being in a foreign country is like a return to the wide-eyed wonderment of childhood, or a sneak preview of senility.

Our lives are eschatologically stretched between the sneak preview of the new world being born among us in the church, and the old world where the principalities and powers are reluctant to give way. In the meantime, which is the only time the church has ever known, we live as those who know something about the fate of the world that the world does not yet know. And that makes us different. —Will Willimon, Conversion in the Wesleyan Tradition

Now I have to save Cosmina in front of everyone. And the clock is ticking. Why didn't my dream fast-forward past the relatively easy vampire-only threat and give me a sneak preview of this much, much worse scenario? Whoever created this system was an idiot! Oh. Right. My ancestors created it. Thanks a lot, jerks.

If this is a sneak preview of what Bo will look like in thirty-ish years, then I better get to work locking that shit down.

CHAPTER 5 “You’re kidding, right?” This was not the reaction I’d been looking for. “This isn’t a joke, Beck,” I said as we made our way belowdecks and headed toward the bow. The Room was in the forward-most section of the hull. We stood in front of The Door staring at The Lock. “Maybe Dad went in there during the storm, maybe to secure some extremely important documents or seal a treasure map inside a watertight container, when, all of a sudden, a wave slammed into the side of the boat, knocked something off a shelf, and—BAM!—he got conked on the head, and he’s been knocked out ever since.” Beck just looked at me. “Seriously?” “It’s possible.” “Then why didn’t we see him, Bick? Hello? We were standing right here in the hallway, remember? If not, allow me to refresh your memory.” She made a bunch of splash-splash-gurgle-gurgle noises. “We were up to our necks in water, and I don’t remember seeing Dad swim past us so he could sneak into The Room.” “You weren’t there the whole time. Maybe he used one of the secret hatches up on deck.” Oh, in case I forgot to mention

Anyway, once I mentioned my Dad-sneaked-in-through-a-secret-trapdoor-in-the-deck idea, Beck got a look in her eyes, and I knew: It was time for Twin Tirade No. 426. “Give it up, Bickford. Dad is dead!” “No, he’s not, Rebecca. He’s in The Room.” “No. Way.” “It’s possible.” “Yeah. Just like you facing reality someday. It’s possible.” “I’ll bet he’s in there, right now, lying on the floor.” “He’s dead, Bick.” “No, he’ll just look that way.” “Because he is!” “He’s probably thirsty and hungry, too.” “No, he’s not.” “Of course he is! We should make him a sandwich. Maybe bring him a sports drink.” “He’s not hungry or thirsty, Bickford, because he’s dead. It’s one of the few advantages of dying: You don’t have to eat or drink or do the dishes.” “Rebecca, how can you be so cold and heartless?” “How can you be so sentimental?” “Easy. I have a heart.” “Too bad it’s not pumping blood to your brain, dum-dum.” “Sorry, Mrs. Spock. We can’t all be superlogical like you.” “I’d settle for semilogical.” “Really?” “Yeah.” “Oh. Okay.

Read on for a sneak preview of Blood Past, book two in the Warriors of Ankh series…

My typical day began at five o'clock in the morning when I would finish reading scripts by the side of Rebecca's bed until she woke up at seven. It was thrilling to find a script that I loved, something I desperately wanted to make. And when I found one, my day was made by seven A.M. If I didn't have a script to finish, I had notes to make on those I had read. And if I'd finished my notes, I went downstairs to exercise. After mornings with Rebecca, I'd arrive at the office at nine-thirty. The phone calls had started long before I got there. By ten o'clock I was in a staff meeting, and depending on the day of the week, it was either a production, marketing/distribution or business-affairs meeting. By eleven-thirty, I might be in a meeting with an executive about a particular movie or problem. By twelve, I was meeting with a director I was trying to seduce back to the studio. By twelve forty-five, I'd get in my car and drive across town to a lunch meeting with an agent, a producer, a writer or a movie star. While driving, I'd start to return the phone calls that had started before I ever arrived at my office. At two-thirty, I was back in the car, returning more phone calls, the calls from early morning, from mid-morning, plus East Coast and Europe calls that came in during lunch. At two forty-five, I was back in the office. Inevitably, there were people waiting to see me, executives with personal problems, political problems, and/or production problems. In between, I returned and made more phone calls. At three-thirty, there could be a meeting with someone I was trying to bring to the studio. At four-thirty, there was a script meeting with an executive, writer, producer and/or director. At five o'clock, there were selected dailies of the movies we were shooting. And if I hadn't finished watching them by six-thirty, the rest were put on tape for me to watch later at home. At six-thirty, I'd jump into my car and return more phone calls on my drive home. The call sheet numbered one hundred to one hundred and fifty calls a day. And I always felt it was very important to return every call. The lesson here is people remember when you don't call them back. I'd go home to be with Rebecca. If I didn't have a business dinner or a sneak preview of one of our movies, I had to go to a black-tie event. There was at least one of them a week, honoring someone from our industry. I went out of respect for the talent involved and my counterparts at the other studios. So Rebecca would keep me company while I washed off my makeup, put on new makeup, dressed in black tie, kissed her good-bye and shot out the door. That's where men really have it good: they just put on a tux and go. After I got home at ten-thirty, I would sit on the chair next to Rebecca's bed. Watching her sleep dissolved all the stress in my body. Then I would get up, either finish watching the dailies, or read a script, wash my face and fall into bed at eleven-thirty. But the part of my workday that made me the happiest was when I was closest to the actual making of a movie.

I was already regularly sleeping with a man whose name I didn’t know. A man I met at a restaurant just under a year and a half ago, took him to my home, slept with him and had the best sex in the history of womanhood. Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on when I looked at it, he kept coming back for more, proving again and again that that first time wasn’t a fluke but a sneak preview of better things to come.

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