He Laughed, Tried To Make It Into

One Of The Biggest, And Possibly The Biggest, Obstacle To Becoming A Writer... Is Learning To Live With The Fact That The Wonderful Story In Your Head Is Infinitely Better, Truer, More Moving, More Fascinating, More Perceptive, Than Anything You're Going To Manage To Get Down On Paper.

I Get A Little Cranky With The Whole Business About Kids Not Having Attention Spans. This Reminds Me Of The Usual Business Of Thinking That The Next Generation Is Hopeless. Every Generation Has Said That About Every Younger Generation.

It Goes Something Like 'there Are A Lot Of Ways To Be Yourself.

Tsornin's Nostrils Showed Red, But His Ears Were As Alert As Ever, And Occasionally He Would Rub His Nose Gently Against The Nape Of Her Neck, Just In Case She Was Momentarily Not Thinking About Him.

She Laughed At Him Then, Because He Sounded Like A Small Boy, Not Like A Very Large Grown-up Beast With A Voice So Deep It Made The Hair On The Back Of Your Neck Stir When You Heard It. 'but Vegetables Are Good For You,' She Said, And Added Caressingly, 'they Make You Grow Up Big And Strong.' He Smiled, Showing A Great Many Teeth. 'you See Why I Wish To Eat No More Vegetables.