Misdirection Is One Of My Strengths.

It Is Perhaps Both A Blessing And A Curse That Fictional Worlds Spring Into My Mind Nearly Fully Formed And It Takes Quite A While To Sift Through Everything To Find The Story.

Everything I Have Done, Every Change I Have Made To That Circus, Every Impossible Feat And Astounding Sight, I Have Done For Her.

There Is A Movement Happening, A Quiet One. A Low-profile, Low-resolution Revolution. Comprised Of Writers And Dreamers, Of Guerrilla Artists And Thought-ninjas. Those With Something To Say. They Communicate Through Text Inscribed On True Public Spaces, Rather Than Blogs And Forums. Choosing Fewer Words, Even Without Being Bound By 140 Character Limits. Using Ink Instead Of Pixels. Sending Messages In Living, Breathing Space. Pens Scream Louder Into The Void. Even If Permanent Ink Is Not Aptly Named.

Why Haven’t You Asked Me How I Do My Tricks?” Celia Asks, Once They Have Reached The Point Where She Is Certain He Is Not Simply Being Polite About The Matter. “because I Do Not Wish To Know,” He Says. “i Prefer To Remain Unenlightened, To Better Remain In The Dark.

Grow Up, Bailey." "that Is Precisely What I'm Doing," Bailey Says. "i Don't Care If You Don't Understand That. Staying Here Won't Make Me Happy. It Will Make You Happy Because You're Insipid And Boring, And An Insipid, Boring Life Is Enough For You. It's Not Enough For Me. It Will Never Be Enough For Me. So I'm Leaving. Do Me A Favor And Marry Someone Who Will Take Decent Care Of The Sheep.