Both My Parents Loved Words. That Was

The Great Thing About Being Always Among People Of Noble Manners Was The Inevitable Elevation Of One's Own.

Write What You Know. Every Guide For The Aspiring Author Advises This. Because I Live In A Long-settled Rural Place, I Know Certain Things. I Know The Feel Of A Newborn Lamb's Damp, Tight-curled Fleece And The Sharp Sound A Well-bucket Chain Makes As It Scrapes On Stone. But More Than These Material Things, I Know The Feelings That Flourish In Small Communities. And I Know Other Kinds Of Emotional Truths That I Believe Apply Across The Centuries.

Here We Are, Alive, And You And I Will Have To Make It What We Can.

Even The Classics That We Read To Our Young Children Are Full Of Wolves' Fangs And Burning Ovens And Bloody Feet And Ice Shards Piercing Hearts. Even The New Testament Climaxes With An Act Of Unspeakable Torture. Might As Well Just Read To Our Kids From The Amnesty Annual Report And Be Done With It.

Book Burnings. Always The Forerunners. Heralds Of The Stake, The Ovens, The Mass Graves.