I Love The Structural Part Of The

I'd Pretty Much Given Up Hope Of Being Published, So I Just Wrote The Book I Wanted To Read.

He Had The Vague Sense Of Standing On A Threshold, The Crossing Of Which Would Change Everything.

The Stretch Of Years Leaves None Unmarked: The Blissful Sense Of Youthful Invincibility Peels Away And Responsibility Brings Its Weight To Bear.

Rejection Is A Cancer, Edie. It Eats Away At A Person.

She'd Slept Terribly The Night Before. The Room, The Bed, Were Both Comfortable Enough, But She'd Been Plagued With Strange Dreams, The Sort That Lingered Upon Waking But Slithered Away From Memory As She Tried To Grasp Them. Only The Tendrils Of Discomfort Remained.