Because I Write Fiction, I Don't Write

Oh, God. What Was Happening To Her, She Was Turning Into A Normal Person.

When You Chopped Logs With The Ax And They Split Open They Smelled Beautiful, Like Christmas. But When You Split Someone's Head Open It Smelled Like Abattoir And Quite Overpowered The Scent Of The Wild Lilacs You'd Cut And Brought Into The House Only This Morning, Which Was Already Another Life.

Patricia Embraces Me On The Station Platform. 'the Past Is What You Leave Behind In Life, Ruby,' She Says With The Smile Of A Reincarnated Lama. 'nonsense, Patricia,' I Tell Her As I Climb On Board My Train. 'the Past's What You Take With You.

He Was Born A Politician. No, Ursula Thought, He Was Born A Baby, Like Everyone Else. And This Is What He Has Chosen To Become.

Probably Not Needing To Be Published Would Give Me More Time To Think About A Book.