I'm Good With Words, But Not The

Life Could Be Cruel Enough These Days Without The Truth Making It Worse.

She Felt Like A Fictional Character Who'd Escaped The Book In Which Her Creator Had Carefully And Kindly Trapped Her, Taken A Pair Of Scissors To Her Outline And Leaped, Free.

In Retrospect, It Seems Like Everything In My Life Led To Me Becoming A Writer. I Just Didn't Realise It At The Time.

Thinking Of Nothing. Trying To Think Of Nothing. Thinking Of Everything.

Cassandra Always Hid When She Read, Though She Never Quite Knew Why. It Was As If She Couldn't Shake The Guilty Suspicion That She Was Being Lazy, That Surrendering Herself So Completely To Something So Enjoyable Must Surely Be Wrong. But Surrender She Did. Let Herself Drop Through The Rabbit Hole And Into A Tale Of Magic And Mystery.