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The Deadlines Are Much, Much Longer With Books. When I Was A Reporter, A Lot Of Times I'd Come In At 8:30 A.m., Get An Assignment Right Away, Interview Somebody, Turn The Story In By 9:30, And Have The Finished Story In The Paper That Landed On My Desk By Noon.

-Margaret Haddix

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The Deadlines Are Much,

Margaret Haddix

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The Deadlines Are Much, Much Longer With Books. When I Was A Reporter, A Lot Of Times I'd Come In At 8:30 A.m., Get An Assignment Right Away, Interview Somebody, Turn The Story In By 9:30, And Have The Finished Story In The Paper That Landed On My Desk By Noon.

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Nothing Was More Valuable Than The Printed Word.

I Want To Live! Not Die, Not Hide, Live!

I Rise Up On My Tiptoes. He's Already Bending His Head Down, Moving His Lips Toward Mine. And Then, Well, I Haven't Exactly Studied This, But I'm Pretty Sure That Ours Is Not The Most Expert Kiss In Sualan History. It's A Little Hard To Figure Out How We Should Tilt Our Heads So Our Noses Don't Bump. But This Kiss Is A Promise, A Vow. Come To Think Of It, It Doesn't Really Matter That Ours Is Not The Most Expert Kiss In Sualan History. It's Still The Best.

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

I Am Not Just What I Remember. I Am Also What I Dream.

Generally I Finish A First Draft In 2-6 Months, Then I Set It Aside For A While So That When I Come Back To It I Can Read It With Fresh Eyes And Figure Out How To Improve It.

There's Hope Around The Corner.

Around The Corner

I Snorted "oh, Beauty. What's That Good For?" Mary Stared, Her Eyes Round. "it Won You The Prince, Did It Not?" I Snorted Again, I Prefer To Think That He Was Captivated By My Charming Personality." I Giggled To Let Mary Know I Was Trying To Make Fun Of Myself.

I Started Trying To Write When I Was In Second Or Third Grade.

...even The Most Independent People Sometimes Needed Help. And If I'd Learned Nothing Else From My Life Thus Far, It Was That You Don't Always End Up Where You Think You're Going.

I Think I Learned A Lot From Reading In General - Even From Reading Badly Written Books.

Governments Will Rise, And Governments Will Fall, And Man Will Do Evil To Man, And All We Can Do Is Turn Our Hearts To Good.

Maybe Everyone Is Just Waiting For Someone Else To Save Them.

And Nedley Started Saying,'shut Up!quit That! And I Knew It Really Meant Something To Him. So I Asked For His Help,"mark Said. "don't Tell The Story Like That," Nedley Laughed. "what He Said Was 'quit Pretendin You're A Bad Guy I Need Your Help, And I Need It Now!

"don't Let Go!" He Orders. Harper's Hand Is Dry And Soothing, While Mine Is Sweaty With Fear. We've Never Held Hands Before. I Think About What It Means In The Village When Boys And Girls Only A Few Years Older Then Harper And Me Wander Around With Their Hands Clasped Together. They're Always Peering Dreamily Into Each Other's Eyes, Sneaking Sky Kisses...and Soon After, There's A Wedding.

I Was Lucky Enough Not To Face Any Required Summer Reading Lists Until I Went To College. So I Still Think Of Summer As The Best Time To Read For Fun.

He Looked At The Piles Of Food Again, And It Was Like He Was Seeing It With New Eyes. This Is Wrong, He Thought. Letting Food Rot While People Die Of Hunger. It's Evil.

Bitter Is A Bad Way To Live!

When Writing Isn't Going Well-then The Bad Thing About Being A Writer Is That I Also Have The Freedom And Flexibility To Do Something Badly, And No One Else Can Fix It For Me.

Sometimes I Can Spend As Long Revising A Manuscript As I Spent Writing It In The First Place.

After Ive Sent My Revised Draft To My Agent And Editor, They Suggest More Improvement Sand Again, This Revision Phase Can Take Anywhere From A Few Hours To A Few Months.

I Like Playing Around With The Words; I Love It When I Feel Like I've Picked The Exact Right Word To Describe Whatever It Is I'm Trying To Describe

I Like To Know What I'm Celebrating Before I Put On A Party Hat.

I Can Tell You That You Will Have Your Hearts Broken More By The People You Love Than By The People You Hate. But You Must Still Dare To Love. The Rewards Are Worth Far More Than The Risks.

A Ssure You, The More I Travel Through Time, The More I Witness, The More I Realize That There Are Things That Are Both Strange And Wonderful, Far Beyond Human Comprehension.

I Wished I'd Known Weeks Ago That We Didn't Have To Be Chaperoned. I Remembered My Old Daydreams: The Prince And I, Alone Together, Cuddling And Whispering... I Probably Would Have Wised Up And Brocken The Engagement Sooner.

We'll Have A 'rest Of Our Lives' Now.

Fail Big If You Have To, But Go Down Trying.

Oh, Myr," He Chokes Out. "i Hate Having To Ask This Of You..." He Glances Towards The Car Again, And I Crouch Down In The Shadows, Hoping It's Too Dark For Him To See Whether The Window Is Open Or Closed. The Woman Pats His Arm, Cradling Her Hand Against His Elbow. "you Know I'd Do Anything For You And Hil," She Says. I Like Her Voice. It's Throaty And Rich. "you'd Do Anything?" My Father Repeats Numbly. "even Now? After -?" "even Now," The Woman Says Firmly.

Amazing, Yetta Thought. Back Home I Couldn't Have Chosen My Own Husband. And Here I'm Thinking About Choosing Presidents, Governors, Mayors, Laws.

Jen, We Did It. Everyone's Free Now.

The Government Justifies Keeping Everyone Else In Poverty Because People Seem To Work The Hardest When They're Right On The Edge Of Survival.

That Porch Is A Happy-looking Place, And My Father - Burdened, Stoop-shouldered, Cadaverously Thin - Doesn't Seem To Belong On It.

Hope Doesn't Mean Anything. ... Action's The Only Thing That Counts.

I Write A Book Over A Period Of Months Or Years, And When I'm Done With It, Usually Another Year Goes By Before I See It In Print. It's Hard To Be Patient And Wait

It's Just So Much Fun To Make Up Characters, Situations, And Everything Else About A Story. I Have So Much Freedom And Flexibility To Do Whatever I Want.

And Yet, I Felt A Surge Of Exhilaration Just Thinking About That Night. Not Just Because I'd Met The Prince And Fallen In Love And Started On My Course Toward Happiness Ever After, But Because I'd Made Something Happen. I'd Done Something Everybody Had Told Me I Couldn't. I'd Changed My Life All By Myself. Having A Fairy Godmother Would Have Ruined Everything.

The Deadlines Are Much, Much Longer With Books. When I Was A Reporter, A Lot Of Times I'd Come In At 8:30 A.m., Get An Assignment Right Away, Interview Somebody, Turn The Story In By 9:30, And Have The Finished Story In The Paper That Landed On My Desk By Noon.

I Don't Know What You Two Are Up To," Hobart Said. "but You Be Careful Now, You Hear? Don't Do Anything I Wouldn't Do." "well Now, That Doesn't Restrict Us Very Much, Does It?" Mark Teased Back.

I Loved To Read When I Was A Kid, And As Soon As I Realized That An Actual Person Got To Make Up The Books I Loved So Much, I Decided That That Was The Job For Me.

...it’d Be Like Looking For A Needle In A Burning Haystack.' 'oh, I’ve Done That,' Mark Said Airily. 'it’s A Game We Used To Play, After We Got Rid Of All Our Livestock And Didn’t Need Our Hay No More. You Throw A Match Into The Haystack, Give The Fire A Three-second Head Start, And Begin Looking. You Can Find The Needle Every Time If You Work Quick

I Like The Fact That Kids Are Willing To Be Imaginative And Go Along With Me When I'm Telling Strange Tales.

There's Something About Each Of My Books That I'm Really Proud Of, And There's Something About Each Of My Books That I Cringe Over.

I Wish, Peevishly, That He Didn't Know Anything About How Soldiers Sleep, How They Protect Their Fellow Soldiers. It Would Be Nicer If I Could Share The Cloaks Warmth With Him, If We Could Lie With Our Faces Together, Whispering Into The Night.

The Sudden Silence Is Horrifying, And It Seems To Catch My Mother Off Guard. A Tiny Whimper Escapes Her, The Sound Amplified In The Stillness. Surely, My Father Hears Her Now; Surely He And I Can't Go On Pretending She Isn't Crying.

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