I Would Never Write A Memoir, Because

This Is The Price You Pay For Having A Great Father. You Get The Wonder, The Joy, The Tender Moments - And You Get The Tears At The End, Too.

The Most Annoying And Full- Of- Crap Thing A Writer Says Is, I Write Only For Myself, I Don't Care If Anyone Reads It. A Writer Without A Reader Doesn't Exist.

Sure, On A Larger Scale, It Was Healthy To Have People Out There You Cared About More Than Yourself. She Knew That. But Then There Was The Abject Fear You Would Lose It. They Say Possessions Own You. Not So. Loved Ones Own You. You Are Forever Held Hostage Once You Care So Much.

Myron Reached For The Phone And Dialed Win's Number. After The Eighth Ring He Began To Hang Up When A Weak, Distant Voice Coughed. "hello?" Win?" Yeah." You Okay?" Hello?" Win?" Yeah." What Took You So Long To Answer The Phone?" Hello?" Win?" Who Is This?" Myron." Myron Bolitar?" How Many Other Myrons Do You Know?" Myron Bolitar?" No, Myron Rockefeller." Something's Wrong," Win Said. What?" Terribly Wrong." What Are You Talking About?" Some Asshole Is Calling Me At Seven In The Morning Pretending To Be My Best Friend." Sorry, I Forgot The Time.

The Ugliest Truth, In The End, Was Still Better Than The Prettiest Of Lies.