Caroline B. Cooney (born May 10, 1947) is an American author of suspense, romance, horror, and mystery books for young adults.
I love writing and do not know why it is considered such a difficult, agonizing profession.
I'll take you to Mickey D's," said Sean. "I'll buy you a hamburger. " Annie was not thrilled. Sean's offer did not compare to offers made in other centuries. "And fries," Sean said. "And a vanilla milkshake. " Annie remained unthrilled. "Okay, okay. You can have a Big Mac. " Romance in my century, she thought, is pitiful.
I get letters from readers who say that they have always hated reading, but somebody suggested one of my books, they actually finished the book and enjoyed it, and they're going on to read another book. I'm thrilled that they have figured out that reading is fun
I believe my voice is pretty much the same. I've written 75 books, so I'm better at it now than I was earlier in my career
Stephen had just come from a class discussion in which several students believed that the right cup of herbal tea would save them from pain and sorrow. Well acquainted with pain and sorrow, Stephen did not contribute to the discussion. He merely crossed these idiots off his list of possible friends.
I'm one of the lucky writers: plots come easily to me
When in doubt, shut up.
But sometimes, in tight corners, when your back is against the wall and the world is against you, you have to fight back in unexpected ways.
But I found my family. I found the right thing to do. I found the way home.
If you write a story based on a real person, you're trapped by the details of the real person and his life. It gets in the way of writing your own story.
Breakfast was only worth having when somebody else made it for you.
Lying on the front passenger seat, as if it didn't matter, was Rose's Diary. It Mattered.
People nearly always believe, and are willing to back it up with weapons and cruelty, that their religion and way of life is better than the other person's
Actually my first eight books were historical novels, but they were never published
I wonder why we always deny love. I remember in middle school, if you were accused of the crime of loving, you screamed denials constantly and stopped ever even looking at the boy you were accused of liking. The boys could destroy each other by yodeling, "An-drew lo-oves Jen-nie," and both Andrew and Jennie would flinch and blush. Love is this great thing that most songs and books and poems and lives are all about. So the minute we actually think there might be love around, we start laughing and pretending and hiding from it.
I decided to write short stories because they got rejected quicker.
People think they own time. They have watches and clocks and digital pulses. But they are wrong. Time owns them.
in Los Angeles. . . was the thinking-est crowd on earth: how to get ahead, how to mold a better body, how to have a better relationship, how to score, earn, fight, win, get published, be a star.