What Do We Say To The Lord

The Storms Come And Go, The Waves Crash Overhead, The Big Fish Eat The Little Fish, And I Keep On Paddling. (varys)

She Remembered The Godswood, Drooping Branches Heavy With Moisture, And The Sound Of Her Brother’s Laughter As He Chased Her Through Piles Of Damp Leaves.

As A Writer, My Goal, (which I'm Never Going To Achieve, And I Know That, And No Writer Can Achieve That,) But My Goal Is To Make You Almost Live The Books. I Want You To Fall Through That Page And Feel As If These Things Are Happening To You.

The Prejudice Is Still There, But It's Breaking Down. You Have Writers Like Michael Chabon And The Yiddish Policemen's Union. He's A Writer Who's Determined To Break Down Genre Barriers. He's Done Amazing Things.

It Was Bitingly Cold Up Here,and The Wind Pulled At His Clothes Like An Insistent Lover.