Years Fly By, But The Heart Stays

Writing My First Book, I Think In Hindsight I Went Into It Saying, 'it's Gonna Sell.' I Was Earning Enough To Scrape By Sometime Around A Book Or Two Before 'tell No One.' I Moved Up From $50,000 To $75,000, Then $150,000 For Each Book. I Had Never Thought I Would Be Doing Anything Else. I Had Enough Encouragement.

A Dancer On Break Approached Him. She Smiled. Each Tooth Was Angled In A Different Direction, As If Her Mouth Were The Masterwork Of A Mad Orthodontist. "hi," She Said. "hi." "you're Really Cute." "i Don't Have Any Money." She Spun And Walked Away. Ah, Romance.

But Sometimes, Maybe Most Times, It Isn't That Clear. It Is Dark And You Are Near The Edge Of A Cliff, But You're Moving Slowly, Not Sure Which Direction You're Heading In. Your Steps Are Tentative But They Are Still Blind In The Night. You Don't Realize How Close You Are To The Edge, How The Soft Earth Could Give Away, How You Could Just Slip A Bit And Suddenly Plunge Into The Dark.

The Preparation For Building A Series Of Thrillers Based On A Single Character Is Kind Of Like The Preparation For Becoming A Parent: The Best Part Is The Idea - Wink, Wink.

I'm Not Very Happy Idle. There's Always This Voice In My Head That Says, 'i Should Be Writing.