All You Did Was Sit There, He

Tell Me Who You Are. You Need Not Tell Me Your Name. Names Have Power, Even Human Ones. Tell Me Where You Live And What You Do With Your Living.

...and Again She Wished For Sherwood, And The Dappled Roof Of Leaves That Never Weighed Upon Her. She Pulled Her Scarf Closer Around Her And Thought, I Would Rather Live In A Hut In The Woods; A Hut Like The One Of My First Memories, With A Clean-swept Dirt Floor, And A Brown-eyed Boy Watching Me From Behind His Mother's Skirts As I Watched Him From Behind Mine.

Perhaps It Is A Human Thing, To Look Upon Such Beauty And Fail To Encompass It.

The Story Is Always Better Than Your Ability To Write It. My Belief About This Is That If You Ever Get To The Point That You Think You've Done A Story Justice, You're In The Wrong Business.

I Long For Another Human Face Just As I Fear It.