Once Again I Must Ask Too Much

Cobbled Streets And No Shops Open Past Six O'clock, A Communal Life That Seemed To Revolve Around Church, And Where You Could Often Hear Bird Song And Nothing Else: Gaia Felt As Though She Had Fallen Through A Portal Into A Land Lost In Time.

I'm Not Going To Be Murdered," Harry Said Out Loud. "that's The Spirit, Dear," Said His Mirror Sleepily.

I Loved Writing Dumbledore And He Is The Epitome Of Goodness.

It Was His Own Grief Turned Magically To Song.

You Have To Resign Yourself To The Fact That You Waste A Lot Of Trees Before You Write Anything You Really Like, And That's Just The Way It Is. It's Like Learning An Instrument, You've Got To Be Prepared For Hitting Wrong Notes Occasionally, Or Quite A Lot, Cause I Wrote An Awful Lot Before I Wrote Anything I Was Really Happy With. And Read A Lot. Reading Really Helps. Read Anything You Can Get Your Hands On.