Each Man Dreams His Own Heaven.

Being Scared Isn't The Problem. It's Not Running Away That's The Hard Part.

Here Is A Truth, A Truth By Which To Live: There Is Hope. There Is Always Hope. If We Choose To Abandon It, Our Souls Will Turn To Ash And Blow Away.

What Is Good For You Creatively Is Usually Bad Commercially. You Thrive Financially By Sticking To A Series And Not Fiddling About Too Much. You Do Yourself Harm By Moving Away From The Series And The Genre. By Trying Things Not Based In That Particular Mode Of Writing, You Will Just Lose Readers.

He Would Talk To Them Of Stories And Books, And Explain To Them How Stories Wanted To Be Told And Books Wanted To Be Read, And How Everything That They Ever Needed To Know About Life And The Land Of Which He Wrote, Or About Any Land Or Realm That They Could Imagine, Was Contained In Books. And Some Of The Children Understood, And Some Did Not.

I Dream Dark Dreams. I Dream Of A Figure Moving Through The Forest, Of Children Flying From His Path, Of Young Women Crying At His Coming. I Dream Of Snow And Ice, Of Bare Branches And Moon-cast Shadows. I Dream Of Dancers Floating In The Air, Stepping Lightly Even In Death, And My Own Pain Is But A Faint Echo Of Their Suffering As I Run. My Blood Is Black On The Snow, And The Edges Of The World Are Silvered With Moonlight. I Run Into The Darkness, And He Is Waiting. I Dream In Black And White, And I Dream Of Him. I Dream Of Caleb, Who Does Not Exist, And I Am Afraid.