Betrayal Would Be A Different Sort Of

...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.

Mathin Said: "it Is Best To Take Your Opponent's Sash. The Kysin Mark Each Blow Dealt, But To Cut Off The Other Rider's Sash Is Best. This You Will Do." "oh," Said Harry. "you May, If You Wish, Unhorse Him First," Mathin Added As An Afterthought. "thanks," Said Harry.

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.

The Great Thing About Fantasy Is That You Can Drag Dreams And Longings And Hopes And Fears And Strivings Out Of Your Subconscious And Call Them 'magic' Or 'dragons' Or 'faeries' And Get To Know Them Better. But Then I Write The Stuff. Obviously I'm Prejudiced.

For Anyone Who Is: Just Keep Writing. Keep Reading. If You Are Meant To Be A Writer, A Storyteller, It'll Work Itself Out. You Just Keep Feeding It Your Energy, And Giving It That Crucial Chance To Work Itself Out. By Reading And Writing.