That Is How I Came To Think

A Professional Writer Is A Joke. You Write Because You Can't Do Anything Else, And Then You Have Another Job.

I Wrote Home To Say How Lovely Everything Was, And I Used Flourishing Words And Phrases, As If I Were Living Life In A Greeting Card - The Kind That Has A Satin Ribbon On It, And Quilted Hearts And Roses, And Is Expected To Be So Precious To The Person Receiving It That The Manufacturer Has Placed A Leaf Of Plastic On The Front To Protect It.

That The World I Was In Could Be Soft, Lovely, And Nourishing Was More Than I Could Bear, And So I Stood There And Wept, For I Didn't Want To Love One More Thing In My Life, Didn't Want One More Thing That Could Make My Heart Break Into A Million Little Pieces At My Feet.

I've Never Gotten Used To Winter And Never Will.

I Didn't Know It Was Possible To Be Successful As A Writer, So I Wasn't Afraid To Fail.