There's Something About Each Of My Books

I Like The Fact That Kids Are Willing To Be Imaginative And Go Along With Me When I'm Telling Strange Tales.

...it’d Be Like Looking For A Needle In A Burning Haystack.' 'oh, I’ve Done That,' Mark Said Airily. 'it’s A Game We Used To Play, After We Got Rid Of All Our Livestock And Didn’t Need Our Hay No More. You Throw A Match Into The Haystack, Give The Fire A Three-second Head Start, And Begin Looking. You Can Find The Needle Every Time If You Work Quick

Unlike My Mother, My Father Does Not Cry Quietly. His Wails Roll Out Like A Wave Of Pain, And I Scramble To Roll Up My Window. My Mother Cannot Hear That. I Cannot Bear To Hear It Myself. I Am Not Used To My Father's Crying. I've Had No Time To Harden My Heart Against Him.

I Wish, Peevishly, That He Didn't Know Anything About How Soldiers Sleep, How They Protect Their Fellow Soldiers. It Would Be Nicer If I Could Share The Cloaks Warmth With Him, If We Could Lie With Our Faces Together, Whispering Into The Night.

Oh, Myr," He Chokes Out. "i Hate Having To Ask This Of You..." He Glances Towards The Car Again, And I Crouch Down In The Shadows, Hoping It's Too Dark For Him To See Whether The Window Is Open Or Closed. The Woman Pats His Arm, Cradling Her Hand Against His Elbow. "you Know I'd Do Anything For You And Hil," She Says. I Like Her Voice. It's Throaty And Rich. "you'd Do Anything?" My Father Repeats Numbly. "even Now? After -?" "even Now," The Woman Says Firmly.