Books Are The Air I Breathe, So

Writing Is Nearly Always A Matter Of Finding Whatever Your Brain Needs To Trick It Into Being Creative, And In My Case, A Tiny Little Bit Of Fact Just Seems To Work.

Once I Spent A Whole Day There, A Blade Of Grass In Each Hand To Anchor Me To The Warm Earth. I Watched The Sun Rise, Pass Over My Head And Set. Ladybirds Mated On My Knuckle; A Shrew Nibbled A Hole In My Stocking While I Tried Not To Laugh. Such A Day Was Worth Any Punishment.

Ma's Still Nodding. "you're The One Who Matters, Though. Just You." I Shake My Head Till It's Wobbling Because There's No Just Me.

Books Are The Air I Breathe, So I Don't Notice The Seasons.

Every Parent Has Those Moments Where They Look At Their Child And Think, 'there's A Demon In Those Eyes And No One Can See It But Me!