Talk Into My Bullet Hole. Tell Me

He Got Right Down In The Dark Between Heartbeats, And Rested There. And Then He Saw That Another One Wasn't Going To Come. That's It. That's The Last. He Looked At The Dark. I Would Like To Take This Opportunity, He Said, To Pray For Another Human Being.

Memories Assailed Him Of How Gently She Had Spoken, Touched, And Moved; Of How She'd Loved Him Fiercely Despite His Mistakes And Obsessions And Weaknesses. And The Conviction Descended On Him That Love Like Theirs Couldn't Possibly Suffer Any Change.

Write The Unpublishable.. .and Then Publish It.

Sometimes I Heard Voices Muttering In My Head, And A Lot Of The Time The World Seemed To Smolder Around Its Edges. But I Was In A Little Better Physical Shape Every Day, I Was Getting My Looks Back, And My Spirits Were Rising, And This Was All In All A Happy Time For Me. All These Weirdos, And Me Getting A Little Better Right In The Midst Of Them. I Had Never Known, Never Even Imagined For A Heartbeat, That There Might Be A Place For People Like Us.

You're Under Pressure When You Produce Facts. You're Working With Facts In Journalism, But You're Under All Kinds Of Formal Constraints; There Are Expectations.