I Wished I'd Known Weeks Ago That

Nothing Was More Valuable Than The Printed Word.

I Snorted "oh, Beauty. What's That Good For?" Mary Stared, Her Eyes Round. "it Won You The Prince, Did It Not?" I Snorted Again, I Prefer To Think That He Was Captivated By My Charming Personality." I Giggled To Let Mary Know I Was Trying To Make Fun Of Myself.

The Deadlines Are Much, Much Longer With Books. When I Was A Reporter, A Lot Of Times I'd Come In At 8:30 A.m., Get An Assignment Right Away, Interview Somebody, Turn The Story In By 9:30, And Have The Finished Story In The Paper That Landed On My Desk By Noon.

It's Just So Much Fun To Make Up Characters, Situations, And Everything Else About A Story. I Have So Much Freedom And Flexibility To Do Whatever I Want.

A Thousand Times Today I've Started To Open My Mouth, Started To Squeak Out, "can You Tell Me...? But Then I'd Look Into The Front Seat, At My Mother's Silent Shaking, My Father's Grim Profile, The Mournful Bags Under His Eyes, And All The Questions I Might Ask Seemed Abusive. Assault And Battery, A Question Mark Used Like A Club. My Parents Are Old And Fragile. I'd Have To Heartless To Want To Hurt Them.