God Is Not The Voice In The

Genres Aren't Closed Boxes. Stuff Flows Back And Forth Across The Borders All The Time.

Friendship Was Always Contingent.

Each Form Has Its Pluses And Its Minuses.

It Had Helped To Keep Her Sane, That Writing. Then, When Time Had Begun Again And Real People Had Entered It, She'd Abandoned It Here. Now It's A Whisper From The Past. Is That What Writing Amounts To? The Voice Your Ghost Would Have, If It Had A Voice?

Imagine A Famine. Now Imagine A Piece Of Bread. Both Of These Things Are Real But You Happen To Be In The Same Room With Only One Of Them. Put Yourself Into A Different Room, That’s What The Mind Is For.