That's All That Really Matters In The

Just A Little. Just The First Faint Breath Of Love... It Wasn’t Dramatic, Like Some Bolt Of Lightning With A Crack Of Thunder Following. It Was More Like When Flint Strikes Steel And The Spark Fades Almost Too Fast For You To See. But Still, You Know It’s There, Down Where You Can’t See, Kindling.

But It Isn’t A Rough Draft Either. The One I Turned In Several Months Ago Was Rough. There Were Some Bad Plot Holes, Some Logical Inconsistencies, Pacing Problems, And Not Nearly Enough Lesbian Unicorns.

You,” I Said, “are Sweet Music In A Distant Room.

Sometimes When I Get Up After Writing, I'm Surprised At How My Body Feels. Suddenly I'm Not A Lanky, Hungry Young Boy Any More. It's No Fun Putting On Ten Years And Fifty Pounds All Of A Sudden. Other Times, I Get Up And I'm Pleasantly Surprised That I'm Not A Weary Innkeeper, Hopeless, With Bones That Feel Like They're Made Of Lead. I Really Sink Into The Characters That I Write.

Then I Played The Song That Hides In The Center Of Me. That Wordless Music That Moves Through The Secret Places In My Heart. I Played It Carefully, Strumming It Slow And Low Into The Dark Stillness Of The Night. I Would Like To Say It Is A Happy Song, That It Is Sweet And Bright, But It Is Not.