I Need You To Breathe For Me.

You Still Think I've Gone Cracked In The Head," Ben Said, Amused. "listen, If Tomorrow We Pulled Into Biren And Someone Told You There Were Shamble-men In The Woods, Would You Believe Them?" My Father Shook His Head. "what If Two People Told You?" Another Shake. Ben Leaned Forward On His Stump. "what If A Dozen People Told You, With Perfect Earnestness, That Shamble-men Were Out In The Fields, Eating-" "of Course I Wouldn't Believe Them," My Father Said, Irritated. "it's Ridiculous." "of Course It Is," Ben Agreed, Raising A Finger. "but The Real Question Is This: Would You Go Into The Woods?

Now The Truth Is, Writing Is A Great Way To Deal With A Lot Of Difficult Emotional Issues. It Can Be Very Therapeutic, But That's Best Done In Your Journal, Or On Your Blog If You're An Exhibitionist. Trying To Put A Bunch Of *specific* Stuff From Your Personal Life Into Your Story Usually Just Isn't Appropriate Unless You're Writing A Memoir Or A Personal Essay Or Something Of The Sort.

There Were Two Sets Of Double Doors Leading Out Of The Antechamber, One Marked Stacks And The Other Tomes. Not Knowing The Difference Between The Two, I Headed To The Ones Labeled Stacks. That Was What I Wanted. Stacks Of Books. Great Heaps Of Books. Shelf After Endless Shelf Of Books.

Do Not Mistake Me For My Mask. You See Light Dappling On The Water And Forget The Deep, Cold Dark Beneath.

Good Lord Woman. If I Had Tits Like Yours I'd Own Half The World By Now.