 Snippets are story excerpts from the latest works in progress, and stories soon to be released. The Winter Queen's skin was neither transparent like that of the Ice People, nor opaque white like that of the Snow People. Rather, it was colorless, like that of a human woman who had rarely seen the sun. Her frosted, pale hair was wrapped in pearls of ice and studded with glittering six-pointed flakes of snow. A long coat of white fur brushed the blue snow, and opened at her throat to admit the sight of a glittering diamond pendant. If she truly were a thousand years old, no age marked her face or frame. She seemed young, perhaps Enrin’s age.
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This was supposed to be an easy assignment. Find the Water People, Master Ulreg had said, in the Valley of Lakes. They gather at the full moon of every month. All Launtis had to do was to deliver the King’s invitation to the Summer Feast, he said.
But there was one problem. The Water People would not stop talking. Launtis, ever prepared, had arrived in the valley long before the Water people. As the sun had set over the western mountains, he watched the shadows grow long and the moon peek over the eastern mountains. Then he heard them.
 AUTHOR: Megan Whalen Turner AUDIENCE: Young adult GENRE: Fantasy PLOT SUMMARY NOTE: Because this is Book 2 in a series, if you haven’t read the first book, THE THIEF, then this review will likely spoil some of THE THIEF’s surprises for you. You’ve been warned. (Click here to read my review of THE THIEF.) 1. Keep a question or observation close to the response.
Send project to printer?
Yes. June uncrossed her legs, rose from the office chair, and stood by the printer as it whirred and clacked in preparation to print. Then it sucked up a blank white sheet from the input tray, and spit it back out. But it was not the report that Mr. Harkey had requested on his desk by noon. June’s dark eyebrows puckered as she glanced over the printed email. Well, it’s final. Yesterday was the last court date, and I’m free. It feels like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. Part of me still feels very vulnerable and afraid, but I know this is for the best. It was not good for the kids to watch us fighting all the time.  “I just don’t know how you write,” the young woman said. “When I try to write, my idea comes out like mush. It’s so much better in my head.” In my following discussion with her, I realized that there’s a lot about writing that I just take for granted. It’s like any other skill: You get so used to doing it, that you forget all the steps that go into it, and you are hardly aware of the choices you make in arranging and creating your material. So I had my non-writer create a list of questions for me to answer (as best I could). It was a much longer list than I expected. Here are my responses to the first four questions:
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