Christy Hall

My stories are my children. Some are sweet infants that I coddle and care for. Others are old enough now, they need to damn well get a job!

What you really want is all too often hidden just behind what you think you want.

Don't fool yourself. Talking about writing is not the same as actually doing it.

Days become weeks. Weeks become months. Month become years. And years become silence.

Growing up, I used to climb out my window onto the roof and look up at the stars. There, in the quiet, I would write stories inside my head.