I Like To Write. Sometimes I'm Afraid

Miss Jean Louise, Stand Up. Your Father's Passin'.

I Had Never Thought About It, But Summer Was Dill By The Fishpool Smoking String, Dill's Eyes Alive With Complicated Plans To Make Boo Radley Emerge; Summer Was The Swiftness With Which Dill Would Reach Up And Kiss Me When Jem Was Not Looking, The Longings We Sometimes Felt Each Other Feel. With Him, Life Was Routine; Without Him, Life Was Unbearable..." - Scout Finch

They've Done It Before And They'll Do It Again And When They Do It -- Seems That Only The Children Weep. Good Night.

Naturally, You Don't Sit Down In "white Hot Inspiration" And Write With A Burning Flame In Front Of You. But Since I Knew I Could Never Be Happy Being Anything But A Writer, And Mockingbird Put Itself Together For Me So Accommodatingly, I Kept At It Because I Knew It Had To Be My First Novel, For Better Or For Worse.

Ladies Bathed Before Noon, After Their Three O'clock Naps, And By Nightfall Were Like Soft Teacakes With Frostings Of Sweat And Sweet Talcum.