My Writing Comes From Ideas That Make

I Cannot, Will Not, Withhold From My Young Readers The Harsh Realities Of Human Hunger And Suffering And Loss, But Neither Will I Neglect To Plant That Stubborn Seed Of Hope That Has Enabled Our Race To Outlast Wars And Famines And The Destruction Of Death.

The Reason God Made February Short A Few Days Was Because He Knew That By The Time People Came To The End Of It They Would Die If They Had To Stand One More Blasted Day.

Shh" He Said. "look." "where?" "can't You See'um?" He Whispered. "all The Terabithians Standing On Tiptoe To See You." "me?" "shh, Yes. There's A Rumor Going Around That The Beautiful Girl Arrving Today Might Be The Queen They've Been Waiting For.

What I Really Want To Do Is To Write A Hilarious Farce.

My Heart Is Heavy, She Thought. It’s Not Just A Saying. It Is What Is—heavy, A Great Stone Lodged In My Breast, Pressing Down My Whole Being. How Can I Even Stand Straight And Look Out Upon The World? I Am Doubled Over Into Myself And, For All The Weight, Find Only Emptiness.