When Facts Speak, The Wise Man Listens.

He Began To Cry, Not Hysterically Or Screaming As People Cry When Concealed Rage With Tears, But With Continuous Sobs Who Has Just Discovered That He's Alone And Will Be For Long. He Cried Because Safety And Reason Seemed To Have Left The World. Loneliness Was A Reality, But In This Situation Madness Was Also Remotely A Possibility.

There Are, Occasionally, Writers Who Are Able To Combine Both Story And Style. They Are, Of Course, The Best. You Get A Spectacular View And You Also Get To Look At It From The Backseat Of A Chauffeur-driven Cadillac. In The Field Of Fantasy, Those Writers Able To Combine Story-as-narration With Story-as-style Are Even Rarer. But There Are A Few...the Late Theodore Sturgeon, The Early Ray Bradbury...and Richard Christian Matheson. A Brilliant Chip Off The Old Block.

Women's Lib, Frannie Had Decided, Was Nothing More Nor Less Than An Outgrowth Of The Technological Society. Women Were At The Mercy Of Their Bodies. They Were Smaller. They Tended To Be Weaker. A Man Couldn't Get With Child, But A Woman Could---every Four-year-old Knows It. And A Pregnant Woman Is A Vulnerable Human Being. Civilization Had Provided An Umbrella Of Sanity That Both Sexes Could Stand Beneath.

To Write Is Human, To Edit Is Divine.

Your Hair Is Winter Fire January Embers My Heart Burns There, Too.