Jeff Lindsay

She had searched for just the right guy; sensitive and gentle and willing to wait. Quite a long search, of course. She was looking for some imaginary man who cared more about having someone to talk to and see movies with than he needed to have sex, because she was just Not Ready for That. Did I say imaginary? Well yes. Human men are not like that.

I am unlovable...I have tried to involve myself in other people, in relationships, and even - in my sillier moments - in love. But it doesn't work. Something in me is broken or missing and sooner or later the other person catches me Acting or one of Those Nights comes along.

My first true lesson in writing came from Mr. Bowden when I was 16. At my high school, he was the teacher known to be the very best at literature and writing.

I was good at being charming, one of my very few vanities.

Or was he saying, "Hi! Wanna play?"And I did. Of course I did.

I am not shy about admitting my modest talents. For example, I am happy to admit that I am better than average at clever remarks, and I also have a flair for getting people to like me. But to be perfectly fair to myself, I am ever-ready to confess my shortcomings, too, and a quick round of soul-searching forced me to admit that I had never been any good at all at breathing water. As I hung there from the seat belt, dazed and watching the water pour in and swirl around my head, this began to seem like a very large character flaw.

No blood at all. I could hear that phrase repeat itself in my head, louder each time. No sticky, hot, messy, awful blood. No splatter. NO BLOOD AT ALL. Why hadn't I thought of that?

I mean, really: what kind of person could possibly dislike me?

Me, feeling. What a concept.

And I was having too much fun to stop now.

Always marveling at how New Age pseudo-philosophy had taken over the Internet.

Anybody can be charming if they don't mind faking it, saying all the stupid, obvious, nauseating things that a conscience keeps most people from saying. Happily, I don't have a conscience. I say them.

Life teaches us that human thought almost never walks hand in hand with logic, and it is usually counterproductive to raise the point.

The mission sat in a converted store front on the corner of a medium-busy street. There was a small crowd gathered in front - no real surprise, since they gave out food and clothing, all all you had to do was spend a few moments of your life listening to the good reverend explain why you were going to Hell. It seemed like a pretty good bargain, even to me, but I wasn't hungry.

This was just no fun. I wanted my brain back.

How bad could things be if my hair was neat?

Doakes had a first name! It was Albert - had anyone ever really called him that? Unthinkable. I had assumed his name was Sergeant.

A man who discovers his pants are on fire tends to have very little time to worry about somebody else's box of matches