For Our Stories Are Not Yet Finished,

Here's A Secret: Fictive Text Doesn't Necessarily Flow Easily. Most Of The Time It's More Like Cutting A Highway Through A Mountain. You Just Have To Keep Working With Your Pick, Chipping Away At The Rock, Making Slow Progress.

Adults Had The Notion That Juveniles Needed To Suffer. Only When They Had Suffered Enough To Wipe Out Most Of Their Naturally Joyous Spirits And Innocence Were They Staid Enough To Be Considered Mature. An Adult Was Essentially A Broken-down Child.

She Looked Around. "oh, I've Just Got To Hug Somebody! You!" And She Hugged Puck, The Little Ghost Horse. "and You." She Hugged Pook, And Peek, And Even The Nose Of The Moat Monster. "but Not You," She Decided, Encountering The Zombie.

But I Don't Read Or Listen For Pleasure. I Have Too Much Else To Do.

Every Person Professes To Love Good And Hate Evil, But In His Actions His Real Preferences Emerges.