Ransom Riggs
Ransom Riggs
Ransom Riggs is an American writer and filmmaker best known for the book Miss Peregrine's Home for Peculiar Children...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionWriter
CountryUnited States of America
honestly
Fifty-percent of the director's job honestly is casting the movie well.
dream home escaping
I used to dream about escaping my ordinary life, but my life was never ordinary. I had simply failed to notice how extraordinary it was. Likewise, I never imagined that home might be something I would miss.
looks sometimes
Sometimes it's better not to look back.
heart my-heart ifs
If I'd kept my heart better armored, where would I be now?
growing-up kids florida
I have an unusual hobby: I collect pictures of people I don't know. It started when I was a kid growing up in South Florida, the land of junk stores, garage sales, and flea markets, as a kind of coping mechanism.
form myth
Some truths are expressed best in the form of myth.
girl brother boys
There was a girl who could fly, a boy who had bees living inside him, a brother and sister who could lift boulders over their heads.
dream strange nightmare
Strange, I thought, how you can be living your dreams and your nightmares at the very same time.
forever would-be half
I had just come to accept that my life would be ordinary when extraordinary things began to happen. The first of these came as a terrible shock and, like anything that changes you forever, split my life into halves: Before and After.
girl baby war
Every snapshot collector has obsessions. Some only collect photos of cars. Others like World War II, or babies, or old-timey girls in old-timey swimsuits. I happen to collect the weird stuff: photos that make the hair on the back of your neck stand up a little. The uncanny.
dream nice sticks
I never remember nice dreams; only the bad ones stick.
knocking
When someone won't let you in, eventually you stop knocking.
girl flirting trying
I'm no expert on girls, but when one tries to pinch you four times, I'm pretty sure that's flirting
monday book years
But these weren't the kind of monsters that had tentacles and rotting skin, the kind a seven-year-old might be able to wrap his mind around-they were monsters with human faces, in crisp uniforms, marching in lockstep, so banal you don't recognize them for what they are until it's too late.