Sometimes, We Just Have To Be Happy

I've Found In My Own Life That If My Writing Isn't Going Well, Not Much Else Will. It Is The One Constant, The Key To Everything Else.

It Was So Easy To Disown What You Couldn't Recognize, To Keep Yourself Apart From Things That Were Foreign And Unsettling. The Only Person You Can Be Sure To Control, Always, Is Yourself. Which Is A Lot To Be Sure Of, But At The Same Time, Not Enough.

You Didn't Have To Take A Punch For Me, You Know,' He Said. 'i'm A Lover, Not A Fighter.' 'you're A Freak Is What You Are,' I Said. He Stuck Out His Hand. 'come On, Slugger. Walk With Me. You Know You Want To.' And The Thing Was, Despite Everything I Knew-that It Was A Mistake, That He Was Different From The Others-i Did. How He Knew That, I Had No Idea. But I Got Up And Did It Anyway.

It's Not Forever', She'd Said, But To My Mother, It Might As Well Have Been. She Had Make Her Choice, And This Was It, Where She Felt Safe, In A World She Could, For The Most Part, Control.

I Think My Biggest Problem, Though, At Least In Drafts, Is Not Repeating Myself. After Eight Books I Get Worried That A Character Or Piece Of Dialog Might Be Too Much Like Something I've Already Done. So It's A Challenge To Keep It Fresh.