Rick Riordan
Rick Riordan
Richard Russell "Rick" Riordan, Jr. is an American author known for writing the Percy Jackson & the Olympians series, which is about a twelve-year-old who discovers he is a son of Poseidon. His books have been translated into 37 languages and sold more than 30 million copies in the US. Twentieth Century Fox has adapted the first two books of his Percy Jackson series as part of a series of films. His books have spawned related media, such as graphic novels...
NationalityAmerican
ProfessionYoung Adult Author
Date of Birth5 June 1964
CountryUnited States of America
Contrary to what you might think, I don't spend every waking hour thinking about boys." "Just most waking hours?
Leo scratched his head. “Well I dunno about Enchiladas-“ “Enceladus,” Piper corrected. “Whatever. But Old Potty Face mentioned another name. Porpoise Fear, or something?” “Porphyrion?” Piper asked. ”He was the giant king, I think.
Holy mother!" "Hmph. More like holy father. I'd think you'd know the difference." -Hephaetus
I tried to think of something to say. Excuse me? Hello? Marry me? Anything would have done.
The whole campfire idea freaked Piper out. It made her think of that huge purple bonfire in the dreams, and her father tied to a stake. What she got instead was almost as terrifying: a sing-along.
Shut up, me,” Leo said aloud. “What?” Piper asked. “Nothing,” he said. “Long night. I think I’m hallucinating. It’s cool.” Sitting in front, Leo couldn’t see their faces, but he assumed from their silence that his friends were not pleased to have a sleepless, hallucinating dragon driver. “Just joking.” Leo decided it might be good to change the subject.
I missed him so much I would sometimes turn to tell him something before I forgot he was gone. In spite of all that, and all the emotion boiling around inside me, all I could think of to say was: “You’re blue.
I guessed his name was Face of Horror. I wondered how long it had taken his mom to think of that. Bob? No. Sam? No. How about Face of Horror?
Amos stopped before the entrance, which was the size of a garage door—a dark heavy square of timber with no visible handle or lock. “Carter after you.” “Um, how do I—” “How do you think?” Great another mystery. I was about to suggest we ram Amos’s head against it and see if that worked.
Right,” I said. “So the baboon, the crocodile…any other pets I should know about?” Amos thought for a moment. “Visible ones? No, I think that’s it.
I seriously needed an extra-strength magic pillow, because my ba refused to stay put. [And no, Sadie, I don't think wrapping my head in duct tape would've worked either.]
So you've got no name?" I asked. "They couldn't think of one ugly enough?" The creature snarled, stepping over the unconscious policeman. "Set animal is too hard to say," I decided. "I'll call you Leroy." Apparently, Leroy didn't like his name. He lunged.
I couldn't help thinking about my dream, with Annabeth crumpled and lifeless in Luke's arms. Here I was rescuing baby monsters, but I couldn't save my friend.
You'd think he'd ran out off rocks," I muttered