Thriller Writing Quotes

Being magnanimous in victory usually worked, but to keep abreast of the situation he had to 
pump the girl for all she knew. Was there a pang of remorse for his actions in his mind? 
Possibly, but what choice did he have? If he wanted to survive, he had no room for weakness.

Stand in the machine there, let’s see what state your internal organs are in. The images
will be projected on screen, and I can go through the diagnosis with you, step by step.”
Brown did as he was told and soon images of his vital organs appeared on the screen.
 As you can see, your heart is slightly enlarged and your lungs and kidneys are not in
good shape either. Have you been experiencing any pain lately?”
“Not that I can think of. What can you do to help?”
“Difficult to say, you see you are dying” said the Doctor. You can see the
discolouration in your kidneys.” Brown strained his eyes.

I wanted to thank you for saving my life. I am still puzzled about your motives
though. Was it revenge against Zedan for rejecting you?”
“You insult me. It seems that you think of everybody in the same lowly terms you
think of yourself. If there is anybody I should hate for Zedan rejecting me, it should be
you. He was only doing what is expected of him in our society.”
“You mean you don't hate me?” This was a new revelation to Brown. It worried him.
He was used to hate, he could deal with it, but this he could not understand, he had used
the girl ruthlessly and yet she did not hate him.

It’s the opportunity of a lifetime,” said Ito finally, who had been keeping very quiet
up to this point.
“Indeed. How much will it cost?” asked Brown
“About twenty million Interplanetary Credits,” said Demba. “A modest investment for
a man of your means.”
“Indeed,” said Brown again. That was all the money he had, which started to strike
him as strange, when his thoughts were interrupted.
“We’ll arrange a visit to the mine,” said Ito. “Show you the place itself.”
“Indeed,” said Brown. Or had he said that? The strange waking memory he had fallen
into started to become repetitive. Reality started to flow back in.
Diamonds, thought Brown. All those diamonds in that mine.

Yep. God’s giving me a second chance at motherhood as a “thank you” for killing a bunch of scumbags. He’s looking down and thinking, “Well done, Susie. You’ll make a fine mommy.

There was nothing between the ranch and the nearest town except a windy, two-lane mountain road edged with pine trees, meadows, cliffs and boulders. No Dairy Queen, no Circle K, nothing.

The snake you don’t kill today may kill you tomorrow.

A smart person is not one that knows the answers, but one who knows where to find them...

Fine architecture is man’s tribute to the land it has been built on. So are the untouched, pristine lands he preserves for posterity.

I knew then that I would devote every minute we had left together to making her happy, to repairing the pain I had caused her and returning to her what I never known how to give her. These pages will be our memory until she drows her last breath in my arms and I take her forever and escape at last to a place where neither heaven nor hell will ever be able to find us.

When it reached the mirror’s edge, the blood began to drip and the synchronous echo of each drop that hit the white, porcelain sink below almost felt relaxing.

Over the years, The Cult of the Clan’s finest hunters had tried and failed to capture a changeling and Bonnyman was determined he would not make the same mistakes as his peers. Their stories littered the pages of the Cult’s history like garbage discarded in the street.

When compared with what I have in mind for it, your property is blighted, dangerous, deteriorated, infectious, unhealthy, substandard, crime-infested, and irreparable. Once I have proven that, I will move in, and you will be moved away. You must leave so I can thrive.

Writing is not always a writer's playtime. It's actually a work in progress. Few understand this and mistakenly believe we're wasting time. But it's never a waste of time when doing what you love.

Immediately after that fate-filled evening in May, the phone booth in its entirety had been confiscated by the Homicide Unit as embodying significant criminal evidence of murder. More accurately, though, the booth was like an envelope encapsulating the entire crime scene, including splattered skull fragments.

Steven looked at Walter with fear in his eyes and tried to speak, but nothing came out. It was as if the breath was pulled from his lungs all within an instant.

Some things are just like riding a bicycle; you jump on, pedal, and hope you don’t fall.

Bonnyman quickly walked over to the head and picked it up by the hair. He held it in front of his face. ‘Tell me whose orders you follow,’ he said in a gentle voice that Zam didn’t think he possessed. The wraith looked past Bonnyman, staring at its body twitching on the floor. ‘Never your orders,’ it gasped, before closing its eyes forever.

The big trinity of publishing: mystery, thrillers and romance. If you can combine all three, then it’s a winner’s trifecta and you’ll be rich beyond your dreams.

Sierra felt full of hope and confidence in God. She knew who she was. And she knew Whose she was. Whatever mysterious plan God had for her life, it would be an interesting one. As Christy had said earlier, God writes a different story for each person. Sierra decided hers might not be a bestseller or even a thriller. It certainly wasn't a romance. But it was turning into a fine mystery. And she could live with that.

Yes, I could stop writing... But only after I shoot myself.

I write thrillers for the same reason that people read them – it's escapism.

The renaissance of Zack Blake at Renaissance Center, what a story! Maybe Mitch Albom will write a column.

She walks to the white board and wheels it round to face him. She writes ‘Motive’ and ‘Suspects’ at the top of the board. She doesn’t turn to look at him but knows his eyes are burning.

She might not have read many books. But when she reads a book, she swallows the very words. If you open the books on her shelves, you will find that the front and back covers encase white pages.

The greatest book in the world, the Mahabharata, tells us we all have to live and die by our karmic cycle. Thus works the perfect reward-and-punishment, cause-and-effect, code of the universe. We live out in our present life what we wrote out in our last. But the great moral thriller also orders us to rage against karma and its despotic dictates. It teaches us to subvert it. To change it. It tells us we also write out our next lives as we live out our present. The Mahabharata is not a work of religious instruction. It is much greater. It is a work of art. It understands men will always fall in the shifting chasm between the tug of the moral and the lure of the immoral. It is in this shifting space of uncertitude that men become men. Not animals, not gods. It understands truth is relative. That it is defined by context and motive. It encourages the noblest of men - Yudhishtra, Arjuna, Lord Krishna himself - to lie, so that a greater truth may be served. It understands the world is powered by desire. And that desire is an unknowable thing. Desire conjures death, destruction, distress. But also creates love, beauty, art. It is our greatest undoing. And the only reason for all doing. And doing is life. Doing is karma. Thus it forgives even those who desire intemperately. It forgives Duryodhana. The man who desires without pause. The man who precipitates the war to end all wars. It grants him paradise and the admiration of the gods. In the desiring and the doing this most reviled of men fulfils the mandate of man. You must know the world before you are done with it. You must act on desire before you renounce it. There can be no merit in forgoing the not known. The greatest book in the world rescues volition from religion and gives it back to man. Religion is the disciplinarian fantasy of a schoolmaster. The Mahabharata is the joyous song of life of a maestro. In its tales within tales it takes religion for a spin and skins it inside out. Leaves it puzzling over its own poisoned follicles. It gives men the chance to be splendid. Doubt-ridden architects of some small part of their lives. Duryodhanas who can win even as they lose.

Sometimes a night of over-eating leaves you hungry for something you can't name. An emptiness haunted me. An emptiness I didn't have a name for until I met Jeb. Now, I' m starving.

I tell everyone who asks me about writing...almost everyone has an idea for a book, and some even have a great ending, but it's that 290 or so pages in between that are tough!

Everything begins with chioce.

Why did I decide to write cyber thrillers? Because we've gone from the Cold War to the Code War.

It was a cooler morning than usual, but it was a welcomed difference. The many childhood summers she had spent on the French Riviera were now a simple memory, her younger adult years in the Caribbean now packed away into the past. The cooler New England temperatures helped to mitigate the heat of her present concerns.

She told herself, finally, that she must face it or die . . . But this was just a whisper in the self, that flutter within which starts as a tiny plea and fights to grow in strength and resonance. So, she stood by it and fought for it, but not before her life and her love took the losses redemption almost always exacts from the redeemed.

There were adventure stories supplied with cloths for mopping your brow, thrillers containing pressed leaves of soothing valerian to be sniffed when the suspense became too great, and books with stout locks sealed by the Atlantean censorship authorities ("Sale permitted, reading prohibited!"). One shop sold nothing but 'half' works that broke off in the middle because their author had died while writing them; another specialised in novels whose protagonists were insects. I also saw a Wolperting shop that sold nothing but books on chess and another patronised exclusively by dwarfs with blond beards, all of whom wore eye-shades.

The greatest compliments I’ve ever received were complaints from readers that I made them stay up all night reading.

Valdivia had to hold back the familiar mixture of sadness, rage, and revulsion to keep herself from shouting at the world in front of her. Of course, she had seen bad things before. But now, violence against women was a particular anguish, and the pursuit of their killers had become a personal mission.

Robbie thought it was funny how his mind was able to remember the smallest details in a fraction of an instant. Like people covering their faces and saying, “OOOWWW!” in reaction to seeing blows delivered to his face, or some writing on the wall above the lockers that said, “SCHOOL SUCKS!” or the name Joey on a ring just before it crashed into his eye and everything went black.

Ava had to get Maxime’s location soon so she could get out of there. She’d seen enough of this place and its people that she never wanted to come back. She texted the judge: Do you have the information? I need it. I have to leave here soon.

If only marriage licenses came with a buyer's remorse clause. ~Detective Mike Malone

My colleague Bruce Sterling has defined a thriller as a science fiction novel that includes the President of the United States.

There was something about him that made her feel alive and ready for anything, but there was another part that screamed danger. She wasn't sure she liked either half.

I take writing very seriously. There's a lot of responsibility in putting blood in the veins of fictional characters.

أكثر ما استفدته من كتابة الروايات البوليسية هو أنني صرتُ أتقن أكثر من عشرين طريقة أتخلص بها من أى جثة، بسرية تامة وبدون أية آثار.

The thing is, Sara, writing's scary. You have to be prepared to go deep......And when your brain's shouting, 'No, no, no, I'm not going to think that thought; it's too dirty, it's too scary, it's too painful,' that's when you must make yourself think it and make yourself write it.

The instruction here is not for every kind of writer - not for the writer of nurse books or thrillers or porno or the cheaper sort of sci-fi - though it is true that what holds for the most serious kind of fiction will generally hold for junk fiction as well. (Not everyone is capable of writing junk fiction: It requires an authentic junk mind. Most creative-writing teachers have had the experience of occasionally helping to produce, by accident, a pornographer. The most elegant techniques in the world, filtered through a junk mind, become elegant junk techniques.)

For now, I will say that God endowed humans with a great many powers and forces, and some of the creative, constructive powers can only be passed on through channels of others.” The Guardian

In today’s world, you can find a power-mad city bus driver seizing power in Venezuela. A vapid man. A hollow man. A man offering handouts and promises of a better future, neither of which went to any but the few partisans closest to the president. In the blink of an eye, one man shreds every lovely piece of the fabric that held the country together for a hundred years and more. Reducing everyone to penury. Citizens dumbfounded and confounded, not understanding how this happened. The oil derricks that were symbols of prosperity sitting frozen in rust, pumping nothing. Not a wheel in the nation turning. Children, in some places, eating dirt to survive.

I focus on representing life as close to reality as I can. Sometimes, (ok ok most of the time) it isn’t the most glorifying images of humanity. However, it points to our need for a Savior more than anything else I could write.

The story is still unfinished and so, I’m determined to write the ending. But how should I end it? Give my heroine a happily ever after? Reunite Jacob with Karoline? What about my own life? What about my own happily ever after?

There is only one motive for writing a novel: to be published and read. To me there is no distinction between the mystery novel and the novel, only between good books and bad books. A good book takes the reader into a new world of experience; it is an experiment. A bad book, unless the writing is inept, reinforces the intransigent attitude of the reader not to experiment with a new world. Since there are criminals and psychopaths and sociopaths in all my novels they are in a way psychological thrillers.

When does the mastery end? How many things do I need to be good at to feel good about myself? Could Dan Brown really teach me how to write a thriller as well as he does? Do I even want to try? Or has the access to geniuses of various types simply made us feel bad that we aren't enough just being interested in what we're interested in and accomplishing the less-than-genius-level things we already accomplish? Do I need to be good at more things or simply find more enjoyment in what I'm already pretty good at?

Daily, she went over the story, ramming it through the turnstile in her mind, making sure she hadn’t missed anything major. She did not want to be caught off guard if she was ever questioned. She had to have thought of everything. And what of those things she could not anticipate? She’d simply answer, “I don’t know. I have no knowledge of that. Someone else might be able to tell you.

Before I start a film or a play, I try to build a world in my mind. An imaginative world which the character lives in; and I create that with novels, with painting, with music, with films. I try and understand tone. Tone is so important. Is this a thriller, is this a Gothic romance, is this an action film, is this a love story? Then, once I understand that, I just jump into it. This might be like an incomplete way of describing it, but it's like I build a swimming pool, then I just dive in. Do you know what I mean?

A traditional mystery is a whodunit, whereas a thriller is a how-can-we-stop-them-from-doing-it. As you compare these seemingly opposite subgenres in Figure 1.1, you’ll note that although they differ in essential ways, they share a fundamental element—the use of suspense.

Meeting writers is usually disappointing, at best. Writers who write sexy thrillers aren't necessarily sexy or thrilling in person. Children's book writers might look more like accountants, or axe murderers for that matter. Horror writers are very rarely scary looking, although they are frequently good cooks.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR CHESTER HIMES was born in Missouri in 1909. He began writing while serving a prison sentence for a jewel theft and published just short of twenty novels before his death in 1984. Among his best-known thrillers are Cotton Comes to Harlem, The Crazy Kill, A Rage in Harlem, The Real Cool Killers, and The Heat’s On, all available from Vintage.

Writing the middle of a novel is a lot like driving through Texas. You think it's never going to end, and the scenery looks the same.

The women I write about have to fight for what they want, sometimes against forceful odds It's a kinetic experience, an intense ride.

We originally meant each to write an excursionary “thriller:” a space-journey [his] and a timejourney (mine) each discovering Myth.

Writing is a pleasure but family is a blessing!

Now, along with the guns I'd retrieved from my personal storage unit, I felt totally prepared to write a scholarly book on the Middle East.--Titus Ray, Chapter 9

Being an author, writing a book was great fun. Publishing and marketing, not so fun.

كنتُ أتمنى أن أصبح رسامة، ولكني فشلتُ في تعلم الرسم فقررتُ أن أرسم لوحاتي بالكلمات.

This particular book was especially good escape reading. A real thriller. The writing was good. The plot was entertaining. The characters were colorful. She enjoyed it.

The last thing he heard was my low, excited breathing as I stared into his white eyes as his life slowly slipped away. -Mark Lopez #TheBloodMakesItReal

Love or hate my work. I write not to impress. It's just in me to give.

Policemen are often confronted with situations which baffle them at first. A certain crime scene may seem meaningless, but they have to derive some meaning out of it. They have to connect the dots, find the links, delve into its history, look for evidence, come up with a zillion theories and arrive at truth. The thing is, truth is always stranger than fiction.

Ava was almost twenty-six, on her own, in a decent and mostly stable relationship, eternally grateful to be away from Jeffrey Hoffman’s clutches. Hoffman had held her captive for just over four years until she escaped that life at eighteen. In the first few years of her escape, she’d had as much therapy as she could tolerate, preferring to get on with things. 

The big man jerked Jason to an upright position. “You shot me, mister. Now you pay.” He placed a bearpaw over Jason’s face and smashed his head into a tree, hard enough not to kill, but with enough force to knock him senseless. Then he broke each of Jason’s fingers, one at a time. For good measure he squeezed each of the Director’s hands until he could feel small bones crunching.

To write well is to have felt a tingle of joy in your being; to have left a little of your blood on the page' B.J.Kibble, author of DRY RAIN, LEGION, CHASING THE WIND,and CRIES FROM THE GRAVE.

At the witching hour, the city was totally silent. Only the wind of portent blew through the gathered council of whispering brick chimneys on the rooftops, delivering the hand that would write upon the wall.

Their conversation ceased abruptly with the entry of an oddly-shaped man whose body resembled a certain vegetable. He was a thickset fellow with calloused and jaundiced skin and a patch of brown hair, a frizzy upheaval. We will call him Bell Pepper. Bell Pepper sidled up beside The Drippy Man and looked at the grilled cheese in his hand. The Drippy Man, a bit uncomfortable at the heaviness of the gaze, politely apologized and asked Bell Pepper if he would like one. “Why is one of your legs fatter than the other?” asked Bell Pepper. The Drippy Man realized Bell Pepper was not looking at his sandwich but towards the inconsistency of his leg sizes. “You always get your kicks pointing out defects?” retorted The Drippy Man. “Just curious. Never seen anything like it before.” “I was raised not to feel shame and hide my legs in baggy pants.” “So you flaunt your deformity by wearing short shorts?” “Like you flaunt your pockmarks by not wearing a mask?” Bell Pepper backed away, kicking wide the screen door, making an exit to a porch over hanging a dune of sand that curved into a jagged upward jab of rock. “He is quite sensitive,” commented The Dry Advisor. “Who is he?” “A fellow who once manipulated the money in your wallet but now curses the fellow who does.

You must push through the negativity and self-criticism that dam up your creativity and just let it flow. Be your authentic self. Write or sing or dance or paint with your whole being, without guardedness or cynicism and without trying to second-guess an audience.

يظنون الكتابة مطر وفيروز وقهوة ووفير المال وجليل الشهرة .. الحقيقة أن الكتابة هى ظهر متألم وعنق متيبس وأصابع متعرقة وأعين متورمة وصداع مزمن و10% من ثمن الكتاب، والأهم أنها تواصل روحاني بين كلماتك وقاريء لم يلتقيك ولكنه غاص بين صفحاتك. هذه هى المكافأة التي لا تقدر بثمن.

Sitting in the cruiser, staring through this memory, she wondered why it was so hard for a headstrong woman in this world, in this country—why she had to be so alone to be who she was, and not just Valdivia herself, but every woman who is a lone wolf on the slick, icy tundra. 

Who is the only person that matters when it comes to action thriller fiction? The reader. Driven by entertainment, inspired to take minds and emotions to new places - I write for the reader. To David Koepp, Christopher McQuarrie and Aaron Sorkin – I thank you. Enjoy the ride!

I can’t consider you a thief or a likely candidate for prison or a nervous breakdown Gloria. I sense a real strength in you more strength than you know is there – you’ve got internal reserves that ability to cope and to keep coping. Now remember don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. I’ll help.” Pyramid Lady

Everything is falling into place perfectly. We have four dirty DEA agents working with a terrorist group and killing Americans on American soil. The headlines are going to write themselves and we're going to get our candidate into the White House. When that happens, we'll get the war we want. The war we can win.

McKee's a genius. And hillarious. You'll like him, too, Charles. He's all for originality, just like you. He says that we have to realize that we all write in a genre and we must find our originality within that genre. As it turns out, there hasn't been a new genre since Fellini invented the mockumentary. My genre's thriller, what's yours?

Entrepreneurs who kept their day jobs had 33 percent lower odds of failure than those who quit. If you’re risk averse and have some doubts about the feasibility of your ideas, it’s likely that your business will be built to last. If you’re a freewheeling gambler, your startup is far more fragile. Like the Warby Parker crew, the entrepreneurs whose companies topped Fast Company’s recent most innovative lists typically stayed in their day jobs even after they launched. Former track star Phil Knight started selling running shoes out of the trunk of his car in 1964, yet kept working as an accountant until 1969. After inventing the original Apple I computer, Steve Wozniak started the company with Steve Jobs in 1976 but continued working full time in his engineering job at Hewlett-Packard until 1977. And although Google founders Larry Page and Sergey Brin figured out how to dramatically improve internet searches in 1996, they didn’t go on leave from their graduate studies at Stanford until 1998. “We almost didn’t start Google,” Page says, because we “were too worried about dropping out of our Ph.D. program.” In 1997, concerned that their fledgling search engine was distracting them from their research, they tried to sell Google for less than $2 million in cash and stock. Luckily for them, the potential buyer rejected the offer. This habit of keeping one’s day job isn’t limited to successful entrepreneurs. Many influential creative minds have stayed in full-time employment or education even after earning income from major projects. Selma director Ava DuVernay made her first three films while working in her day job as a publicist, only pursuing filmmaking full time after working at it for four years and winning multiple awards. Brian May was in the middle of doctoral studies in astrophysics when he started playing guitar in a new band, but he didn’t drop out until several years later to go all in with Queen. Soon thereafter he wrote “We Will Rock You.” Grammy winner John Legend released his first album in 2000 but kept working as a management consultant until 2002, preparing PowerPoint presentations by day while performing at night. Thriller master Stephen King worked as a teacher, janitor, and gas station attendant for seven years after writing his first story, only quitting a year after his first novel, Carrie, was published. Dilbert author Scott Adams worked at Pacific Bell for seven years after his first comic strip hit newspapers. Why did all these originals play it safe instead of risking it all?

He began as a minor imitator of Fitzgerald, wrote a novel in the late twenties which won a prize, became dissatisfied with his work, stopped writing for a period of years. When he came back it was to BLACK MASK and the other detective magazines with a curious and terrible fiction which had never been seen before in the genre markets; Hart Crane and certainly Hemingway were writing of people on the edge of their emotions and their possibility but the genre mystery markets were filled with characters whose pain was circumstantial, whose resolution was through action; Woolrich's gallery was of those so damaged that their lives could only be seen as vast anticlimax to central and terrible events which had occurred long before the incidents of the story. Hammett and his great disciple, Chandler, had verged toward this more than a little, there is no minimizing the depth of their contribution to the mystery and to literature but Hammett and Chandler were still working within the devices of their category: detectives confronted problems and solved (or more commonly failed to solve) them, evil was generalized but had at least specific manifestations: Woolrich went far out on the edge. His characters killed, were killed, witnessed murder, attempted to solve it but the events were peripheral to the central circumstances. What I am trying to say, perhaps, is that Hammett and Chandler wrote of death but the novels and short stories of Woolrich *were* death. In all of its delicacy and grace, its fragile beauty as well as its finality. Most of his plots made no objective sense. Woolrich was writing at the cutting edge of his time. Twenty years later his vision would attract a Truffaut whose own influences had been the philosophy of Sartre, the French nouvelle vague, the central conception that nothing really mattered. At all. But the suffering. Ah, that mattered; that mattered quite a bit.

For me, there's nothing better than when I become the funnel, and have that out of body experience where I'm not the one writing anymore. At that point, it's all about bladder control. Sitting back and watching scenes, characters, and dialogue appear out of nowhere, and fear of breaking the spell makes you hold in your pee for six or eight hours is the best thing about being a writer.

Most of us think the word racism is synonymous with prejudice. But racism is more than just discrimination based on skin color. It's also about who has institutional power. Just as racism creates disadvantages for people of color that makes success harder to achieve, it also gives advantages to white people that makes success easier to achieve. It's hard to see those advantages, much less own up to them. And that, I realized, was why I had to write this book. When it comes to social justice, the role of the white ally is not to be a savior or a fixer. Instead, the role of the ally is to find other white people and talk to make them see that many of the benefits they have enjoyed in life are direct results of the fact that someone else did not have the same benefits.

I know if I died tonight, I would die a happy man at peace with myself knowing Gloria’s story would finally be told—a mysterious and astonishing story that defies the timeworn precepts of modern psychology and psychiatry—where insanity, genius, the metaphysical, and the mystery of life come together to beguile and confound our contemporary understanding of the mind and its limitless powers to heal. Dr. Adam Jaxon

You know this has really affected my ability to trust myself. No matter what happened in my life, I was always able to trust myself. My instincts. Two men in a row carrying on indiscretions makes me feel like I made up some story. Almost like a fiction, I wrote in my mind that had a beginning, middle and end. It feels like I manufactured some ideal life that was a made-up invention that I needed to believe was the truth.

Frey goes on to elaborate, “a thriller is a story of a hero who has a mission to foil evil. Not just a hero—a clever hero. Not just a mission—an ‘impossible’ mission. An ‘impossible’ mission that will put our hero into terrible trouble.” According to International Thriller Writers, a thriller is characterized by “the sudden rush of emotions, the excitement, sense of suspense, apprehension, and exhilaration that drive the narrative, sometimes subtly with peaks and lulls, sometimes at a constant, breakneck pace.” ITW defines thrillers as a genre in which “tough, resourceful, but essentially ordinary heroes are pitted against villains determined to destroy them, their country, or the stability of the free world.” Part of the allure of thrillers, they say, comes from not only what their stories are about but also how they are told. “High stakes, nonstop action, plot twists that both surprise and excite, settings that are both vibrant and exotic, and an intense pace that never lets up until the adrenaline-packed climax.

I ask him about his novel. I fancy that Leo writes historical fiction, and for some reason I'm convinced his era is the Roman Empire. I have no reason to suppose this...it's just a fancy. "Romance," he says. "I write romance." My surprise clearly needs no words because he continues to explain. "My agent will tell you it's a story about passionate friendships and reluctant relationships in modern America, but really it's a romance." "Oh...set today?" I'm still thinking gladiators. "Modern America, remember." "Have you...have you always written romance?" "Yes, and what's more, so have you. The mystery writers, the historical novelists, the political thriller writers, the science fiction writers...everybody but the people who write instruction manuals is writing romance. We dress our stories up with murders, and discussions about morality and society, but really we just care about relationships." "You can't be serious. You're saying Stephen King writes romances?" "Yes, ma'am!" Leo sits back in the sofa. "The killer clown is entertaining and all that, but what we're really interested in is whether the fat kid gets the pretty girl.

I think I was born to write. My mother would put a typewriter on the dining room table and say "there you go". My first story was published in the Christian Herald and they would pay me five guineas. I wrote my first novel when I was just 14. I was into mysteries and thrillers at the time but I eventually I drifted into romance because my mother would always ask me to write 'something pretty'. I've never got bored of it because its something I absolutely love. My books are full of hope and romance rather than sex. They are a form of escapism - you can escape the parts of the world that you don't like.

I've always loved reading. When I was in first grade I became fascinated by time travel in the Magic Treehouse series. My love for magic continued into the second grade when I was reading Harry Potter, and then the following year I really got interested in history. So in fifth grade I decided to write a book that I would love to read. I decided to combine time travel, magic, and history, and created the Stone of Discedo. It's a time-traveling stone that requires the user to first fix three terrible events in history before they change anything in their own life, and that became the foundation for the story of One Chance.

Something strange happens about dreams that Gloria has – the real world seems to get mixed up into the dreams and the dreams seem all the more real – with part of your mind you’re aware of what’s going on around you, but part of your mind is drifting and things start to get mixed up. What I’m trying to say is that the human mind has developed a safety valve and dreaming is really the unconscious mind (me in this case) clearing up the debris it has otherwise been unable to cope with on the conscious level – if this is so, then tonight’s dreams became like “a horror show” in which Gloria and I were literally imprisoned.” Gloria’s Helper

Sir, you do understand that - officially - I'm not actually a centurion. I haven't even been assigned to a legion yet.' The general continued writing as he spoke. 'What was the name?' 'Corbulo, sir.' 'Corbulo, you have an officer's tunic and an officer's helmet; and you completed full officer training did you not?' Cassius nodded. He could easily recall every accursed test and drill. Though he'd excelled in the cerebral disciplines and somehow survived the endless marches and swims, he had rated poorly with sword in hand and had been repeatedly described as "lacking natural leadership ability." The academy's senior centurion had seemed quite relieved when the letter from the Service arrived. 'I did, sir, but it was felt I would be more suited to intelligence work than the legions, I really would prefer -' 'And you did take an oath? To Rome, the Army and the Emperor?' 'I did, sir, and of course I am happy to serve but -' The General finished the orders. He rolled the sheet up roughly and handed it to Cassius. 'Dismissed.' 'Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. I just have one final question.' The General was on his way back to his chair. He turned around and fixed Cassius with an impatient stare. 'Sir - how should I present myself to the troops? In terms of rank I mean.' 'They will assume you are a centurion, and I can see no practical reason whatsoever to disabuse them of that view.

Woolrich had a genius for creating types of story perfectly consonant with his world: the noir cop story, the clock race story, the waking nightmare, the oscillation thriller, the headlong through the night story, the annihilation story, the last hours story. These situations, and variations on them, and others like them, are paradigms of our position in the world as Woolrich sees it. His mastery of suspense, his genius (like that of his spiritual brother Alfred Hitchcock) for keeping us on the edge of our seats and gasping with fright, stems not only from the nightmarish situations he conjured up but from his prose, which is compulsively readable, cinematically vivid, high-strung almost to the point of hysteria, forcing us into the skins of the hunted and doomed where we live their agonies and die with them a thousand small deaths.

Tim Tigner began his career in Soviet Counterintelligence with the US Army Special Forces, the Green Berets. That was back in the Cold War days when, “We learned Russian so you didn't have to,” something he did at the Presidio of Monterey alongside Recon Marines and Navy SEALs. With the fall of the Berlin Wall, Tim switched from espionage to arbitrage. Armed with a Wharton MBA rather than a Colt M16, he moved to Moscow in the midst of Perestroika. There, he led prominent multinational medical companies, worked with cosmonauts on the MIR Space Station (from Earth, alas), chaired the Association of International Pharmaceutical Manufacturers, and helped write Russia’s first law on healthcare. Moving to Brussels during the formation of the EU, Tim ran Europe, Middle East, and Africa for a Johnson & Johnson company and traveled like a character in a Robert Ludlum novel. He eventually landed in Silicon Valley, where he launched new medical technologies as a startup CEO. In his free time, Tim has climbed the peaks of Mount Olympus, hang glided from the cliffs of Rio de Janeiro, and ballooned over Belgium. He earned scuba certification in Turkey, learned to ski in Slovenia, and ran the Serengeti with a Maasai warrior. He acted on stage in Portugal, taught negotiations in Germany, and chaired a healthcare conference in Holland. Tim studied psychology in France, radiology in England, and philosophy in Greece. He has enjoyed ballet at the Bolshoi, the opera on Lake Como, and the symphony in Vienna. He’s been a marathoner, paratrooper, triathlete, and yogi.  Intent on combining his creativity with his experience, Tim began writing thrillers in 1996 from an apartment overlooking Moscow’s Gorky Park. Decades later, his passion for creative writing continues to grow every day. His home office now overlooks a vineyard in Northern California, where he lives with his wife Elena and their two daughters. Tim grew up in the Midwest, and graduated from Hanover College with a BA in Philosophy and Mathematics. After military service and work as a financial analyst and foreign-exchange trader, he earned an MBA in Finance and an MA in International Studies from the University of Pennsylvania’s Wharton and Lauder Schools.  Thank you for taking the time to read about the author. Tim is most grateful for his loyal fans, and loves to correspond with readers like you. You are welcome to reach him directly at tim@timtigner.com.

Dale Mayer is a prolific multi-published writer. She's best known for her Psychic Visions series. Besides her romantic suspense/thrillers, Dale also writes paranormal

So far, we’ve discussed how you start with a germinal idea and what makes a good one; then we discussed the villain profile and how to create a villain with a dark mission, who will take actions to get what he wants. These actions are the plot behind the plot. The hero’s job in a thriller, remember, is to foil evil. The villain’s plot behind the plot is the evil the hero must foil. These actions the hero and others take to counter the plot behind the plot make up the plot of your thriller. Simple, no?

will wear you out in a hurry. But because I make my living writing books, I would really like to ask your help. Book reviews are the lifeblood of what I do, and your review of my book would mean a lot to me. If you would

A writer’s highest calling: to listen well, write creatively, teach to influence, stir the glowing embers of their peers, and leave the Light on for the next generations.

I go downstairs to my bedroom and get out my diary from where I’ve hidden it in the wardrobe under my jumpers. I write, ‘My mother has a secret.

After 55 years at the bar and a career as a law professor it may seem strange that I wouild write a novel. But the opportunity to spin a tale about hidden treasure, secret codes, midlife love, a life-saving dog and a thrilling chase through West Virginia was just too tempting. The Secet of the 48th Foot was too much fun not to give it a whirl.

Gusterson demanded, rearing up from his ancient electric typewriter. “No, you’re not stopping me writing, Fay—it’s the gut of evening. If I do any more I won’t have any juice to start with tomorrow. I got another of my insanity thrillers moving. A real id-teaser. In this one not only all the characters are crazy but the robot psychiatrist too.” “The vending machines are jumping with insanity novels,” Fay commented. “Odd they’re so popular.

Lonliness is a bitch, but then so is alimony and child support. - a very disillusioned Apoorva, THE PLATOS ASCENSION BRIEF.