Anyway, As The Old Barrelhouse Song Says,

Not Writing Would Be Like Going The Rest Of Your Life Without Having Dreams.

It Is The Tale, Not He Who Tells It.

Bad Writing Is More Than A Matter Of (expletive Deleted) Syntax And Faulty Observation; Bad Writing Usually Arises From A Stubborn Refusal To Tell Stories About What People Actually Do To Face The Fact, Let Us Say, That Murderers Sometimes Help Old Ladies Cross The Street.

We All Have A Tendency To Want Order In Our Lives. But Order Presupposes Authority, And Authority Presupposes, Sooner Or Later, That We'll All Need Hooves. It's Going To Happen Sooner Or Later, Isn't It? You Know It Is.

Deep Inside Her (ih Her Harrowed Soul) She Felt A Glowing Ember Of Fury At The Man Responsible For This. Tha Man Who Had Put Her In This Position. She Looked At The Pistol Lying Beside The Basin, And Knew That If He Were Here, She Would Use It On Him Without A Moment's Hesitation. Knowing That Made Her Feel Confused About Herself. It Also Made Her Feel A Little Stronger.