You Know Reviewers, They Are The Wind

I Know I Have To Write About The Things That Keep Me Awake At Night.

Fiction Is A Sort Of Inter-human Magic, Allowing You To Travel Into A Scene And Feel It Tingle On Your Skin.

Loose Lips Sink Ships.

She Is Inhumanly Alone. And Then, All At Once, She Isn't.

...prodigal Summer, The Season Of Extravagant Procreation. It Could Wear Out Everything In Its Path With Its Passionate Excesses, But Nothing Alive With Wings Or A Heart Or A Seed Curled Into Itself In The Ground Could Resist Welcoming It Back When It Came.