Trees There Were, Old As Trees Can

Writing Is Flying In Dreams. When You Remember. When You Can. When It Works. It's That Easy.

One Cannot Begin A New Dream Without Abandoning The Last [one].

Because, If One Is Writing Novels Today, Concentrating On The Beauty Of The Prose Is Right Up There With Concentrating On Your Semi-colons, For Wasted Effort.

Libraries Are The Thin Red Line Between Civilization And Barbarism.

However You Must Have Sensed A Lurking 'but' Skulking Beneath My Happy, Blithe, And Chipper Exterior. A Minuscule Vexation, Like The Teeniest Lump Of Raw Liver Sticking To The Inside Of My Boot.