Live It Up So You Can Write

I Love Sleep. My Life Has The Tendency To Fall Apart When I'm Awake, You Know?

What Did I Know Best That I Had Not Written About And Lost? What Did I Know About Truly And Care For The Most?

Dying Was Nothing And He Had No Picture Of It Nor Fear Of It In His Mind. But Living Was A Field Of Grain Blowing In The Wind On The Side Of A Hill. Living Was A Hawk In The Sky. Living Was An Earthen Jar Of Water In The Dust Of The Threshing With The Grain Flailed Out And The Chaff Blowing. Living Was A Horse Between Your Legs And A Carbine Under One Leg And A Hill And A Valley And A Stream With Trees Along It And The Far Side Of The Valley And The Hills Beyond.

Show The Readers Everything, Tell Them Nothing.

The Brave Dies Perhaps Two Thousand Deaths If He's Intelligent. He Simply Doesn't Mention Them.