Once You Grow Past Mommy And Daddy

We Give Our Dead To The Orchards And The Groves. We Give Our Dead To Life.

I'm A Fifty-three-year-old Writer Who Can Remember Being A Ten-year-old Writer And Who Expects Someday To Be An Eighty-year-old Writer.

But My Problem With Fantasy, And Horror, And Related Genres, Is That Sometimes The Problems Are Illogical.

Sometimes Being A Friend Means Mastering The Art Of Timing. There Is A Time For Silence. A Time To Let Go And Allow People To Hurl Themselves Into Their Own Destiny. And A Time To Prepare To Pick Up The Pieces When It's All Over.

In My Years, I Have Seen That People Must Be Their Own Gods And Make Their Own Good Fortune. The Bad Will Come Or Not Come Anyway.