Twin Threads Ran Through Her: Fear And

...and The Distance Between Them, Millimeters Only, The Space Of A Breath, Opened Up And Deepened, Became A Cavern At Whose Edge He Stood.

There Was Something Not Quite Right About Her Eagerness, An Eerie Kind Of Voyeurism In Her Need For Bad News.

They Turned A Distracted Gaze On The World, Wide-eyed, Somehow, And Questioning.

Writing Is Always A Process Of Discovery—i Never Know The End, Or Even The Events On The Next Page, Until They Happen. There’s A Constant Interplay Between The Imagining And Shaping Of The Story.

You Missed A Lot Of Heartache, Sure. But David, You Missed A Lot Of Joy.