I Work Full-time In A Used Bookstore.

You Can Always Trust A Dog That Likes Peanut Butter.

There Are Those Hearts, Reader, That Never Mend Again Once They Are Broken. Or If They Do Mend, They Heal Themselves In A Crooked And Lopsided Way, As If Sewn Together By A Careless Craftsman. Such Was The Fate Of Chiaroscuro. His Heart Was Broken. Picking Up The Spoon And Placing It On His Head, Speaking Of Revenge, These Things Helped Him To Put His Heart Together Again. But It Was, Alas, Put Together Wrong.

Stories Are Light. Light Is Precious In A World So Dark. Begin At The Beginning. Tell Gregory A Story. Make Some Light.

The Words, "i Have A Dog Named Winn-dixie," Popped Into My Head In The Voice Of A Small Girl With A Southern Accent. I'd Been Writing Long Enough At That Point To Know Not To Ignore That Kind Of Red Flag. The Next Day, I Put Aside What I'd Been Working On, Started With That One Sentence, And Followed It All The Way To The End.

And So He Was Reading The Story As If It Were A Spell And The Words Of It, Spoken Aloud, Could Make Magic Happen.